A Doom Driven Hero
by Anomalous435
Summary: The story of Marcus, a young man involuntarily thrust into a world of destruction and loneliness. Who can you turn to for support when the entire world rests on your shoulders alone? Expect adventure, death, psychological degradation, romantic tension, and my terrible humour.
1. Chapter 1

**I've often thought that Bethesda and many fanfictions didn't capitalize on the potentially lonely aspects of being a one-man army. This was hinted at when the Dragonborn is referred to as a 'doom driven hero', clearly someone who is destined towards destruction. Whether this is destruction of his enemies, those around him in general, or himself, remains to be seen. Perhaps all three. There will be a psychological element in this story, after all, the Dragonborn is only one man, and the pressure of saving the entire world multiple times lies squarely on his shoulders alone. That sort of thing has got to make a man fairly miserable and stressed, not to mention uncertain about his own morality. The Dragonborn in this story will be a man, mainly just because I feel like the iconic Dragonborn is male (trailers, fan-made movies, etc). His name is Marcus Lavernius, a half nord, half imperial, about 21 years old.**

 **Because this is my first story, I'd be really appreciative of feedback regarding what you like/don't like about the story, and I'll do my best to incorporate it into any future writing. That said, this is still my own creation, and I'll be making the story how I like it. Expect violence, crappy humor, romantic tension, and other characteristics of normal Skyrim fanfictions, but I doubt I'll do any proper 'lemons' as the kids call them. Maybe once Serana enters the picture, I might reconsider :) Regardless, there is going to be romantic scenes and developments with many of the female NPC's in the game, especially the ones that I consider to be left out in terms of development and storytelling. Just don't always expect a happy ending. Most elements of the story I will keep canonical, but most conversations and a few quests will be changed to better incorporate realism and the certain personality of Marcus, as well as a few of my own adaptions of the story. Despite having over 1000 hours in the game, I can't recall all dialogue off the top of my head, and I'm too lazy to go look it up, so be prepared for some minor inconsistencies.**

* * *

A Doom-Driven Hero: Unbound

Pain. That was the first thing he felt. A sharp, splitting pain in his head that pounded in unison with his heartbeat. He heard the occasional rattle of iron on wood, and whine of a horse as his mind gradually became self aware again. Marcus opened his gluey eyes, one at a time. He was greeted with more pain, as the sunlight glinting off a bank of snow opposite seared a bright burning sensation into his skull. Marcus saw that he was sitting in the back of a carriage, along with three other men. Marcus tried to rub his forehead where he just knew he sported a massive bruise, but to his surprise realized that his hands were tied with a thick cord. It was very tight, and cut in just enough to cause even more pain when he moved his arms. One of the men was seated directly opposite Marcus, and was studying him with a curious expression, eyes staring out from behind long blonde hair.

"Hey, you," he called.

Marcus looked up from his hands, confusion and a dawning shock on his face as he began remembering the events leading up to ending up in this carriage.

The man kept talking, "you were trying to get across the border weren't you? Walked right into that imperial trap, same as us, and that thief over there." The man nodded in the direction of the second man in the carriage, a guy in the same ragged clothing as Marcus, with a fearful expression on his face.

The thief shot the blond man a dirty look, before speaking.

He said, "Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along… the Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now."

The blonde man just snorted in response, but the thief kept talking, this time with his words directed toward Marcus.

He said, "You and me, we shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the empire wants"

Marcus' eyes widened slightly, as the gravity of the situation he was in finally hit him. He looked to the front of the carriage, where a man wearing the traditional imperial armor was driving the carriage.

"I've ended up with a bunch of Stormcloaks caught by the Legion?" Marcus asked with a very worried expression.

The blonde man simply nodded, then looked toward the front of the carriage, where another one could be seen about 50 meters in front. It too, had plenty of stormcloak soldiers on it.

Marcus began looking very worried, events over the last 24 hours began replaying in his mind.

He was running, from a life of really shitty memories, and decided that the best place to bury a past was in a war torn country, where there would no doubt be plenty of work for someone well educated and half-decent in a fight.

 _Well,_ Marcus thought, _that plan sure didn't work out._

He had reached the border crossing, and was surprised to see a lack of imperial soldiers there. It seemed like they'd all left, taking their armor and weapons with them. As Marcus ventured into Skyrim, he was greeted with a sight of about a dozen Stormcloak soldiers walking up the road. Marcus stopped walking, and stood still for a few seconds, unsure what to do. That was when an arrow hit him in the head, and everything went black. Given the fact that he wasn't dead, yet, Marcus assumed the arrow must have been a flat headed arrow, one that simply had the broad head removed and thus was intended to render unconscious, not kill.

"What's wrong with him huh?"

The thief's words brought Marcus back into the present. The thief was looking at the third man, a noble by the looks of him. He wore a large black and grey outfit, with a fur cloak.

"Stay your tongue!" The blonde man barked, "you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king of Skyrim!"

The thief looked shocked, and Marcus was slightly surprised himself.

"Ulfric Stormcloak?" the Thief exclaimed, "you're the leader of the rebellion… but if you're here… Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?"

Marcus thought, _I think we both know the answer to that, you poor fool…_

The blonde man said, "I don't know where they are taking us, but Sovngarde awaits..."

Sovngarde… that was the name of the nordic afterlife. Marcus hung his head sadly. He, and every other person in the backs of these carriages, were heading towards their execution. Marcus didn't really know whether to feel depressed, accepting, bitter, or grieving. His life, at least in the past few years, had been one train wreck of a disaster after another. He had done his best, but now, all his decisions seemed to lead him here, to the grave.

 _And no-one is left to bury me, or even care that I'm dead…_

Marcus looked up to the sky, and wondered where his soul would end up. Probably somewhere that sucks, knowing his luck.

The Thief started muttering frantic prayers to whatever divines might be listening today, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?" The blonde man looked tiredly sideways at him.

"Uhh… I'm Lokir, from Rorikstead, and I… wait, why do you even care?" Lokir looked sideways at him with growing anger. Briefly, Marcus thought about the 5 stages of grief, and wondered if Lokir would have enough time to experience all of them.

"A nord's last thoughts should be of home… I'm Ralof, of Riverwood," Ralof replied. He then looked at Marcus, prompting him to speak his own name.

"I'm Marcus Lavernius… from Chorral." Marcus started to drift back into his memories, memories of the seemingly brief time we spent in his first home. He pulled himself back to the present, there was no point in reflecting on any more of his past, it'd only serve to sully the remaining moments of his life.

The Carriage train was now approaching a city. As they neared, the gates opened and a watchman called out, "General Tullius Sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good," came the response from the man in front with ornate armor, "let's get this over with."

As they trundled though the small city, Ralof began reminiscing about his experiences here, something about being juniper walls and mead berries. A young boy expressed his excitement at seeing the soldiers, but his father sternly told the boy to head inside the house. An execution would probably ruin the kid's appetite. A few villagers whispered excitedly to each other when they saw Ulfric. Marcus wasn't really listening, he was trying to focus on the sky, and it's calming blue colour. It seemed to blend so well with the snowy tips of the surrounding mountains. Any sensory stimulus to distract him from the fact that he was about to die, was very welcome. The carriage was brought to a stop, in front of a tower.

"Shouldn't keep the God's waiting for us..." muttered Ralof, standing up.

"Step forward when your name is called, one at a time!" an Imperial officer barked. Ulfric went first, then Ralof. Marcus hung back, not wanting to be seen, as if resorting to his childish shy tendencies would save him. When Lokir was called forward, he began shouting, "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

With those words, he began sprinting away, trying to make for the gate at the far end of the city.

With a single order, the imperial officer called upon nearby archers, who promptly drew their bows, aimed, and fired upon Lokir. One arrow caught him in the chest, the other embedded itself in his neck. With a short cry, Lokir fell on the ground, dead.

Marcus looked sadly at him, unsure whether to commit him to memory as brave, or stupid.

"Wait…" A nordic imperial soldier in front of Marcus, the one with the list, had his eyes fixed on him. "Who are you?"

Marcus stepped forward, and mustered enough strength to speak without wavering.

"My name is Marcus Lavernius, and I am no criminal, and no Stormcloak."

"Are you a nord or an imperial?"

Marcus was used to the question, his name implied imperial, but his stature and face was more nordic in nature.

"Both, mixed descent."

The imperial man nodded, and wrote a few words on his list, before looking over to his officer.

"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list?"

"Fuck the list, he goes to the block!"

"… By your orders, Captain." The imperial soldier looked toward Marcus, apologetic.

He said, "I'm sorry."

Marcus looked at him, a long look, that carried the question, 'what good does that do me?'

The man just looked at his feet, before nodding toward the officer. Marcus began walking toward the rest of the prisoners, and stood next to a red haired man.

General Tullius began speaking to Ulfric, with a harsh, commanding voice.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen call you a hero… but a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to kill his king and usurp his throne!"

 _Helgen,_ thought Marcus, _So that's the name of the town I'm to die in…_

"You started this war!" continued Tullius angrily, "plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

Ulfric simply grumbled into his gag.

A distant roar echoed through the mountains. It didn't sound like any beast Marcus had ever heard.

"What was that?" asked the apologetic imperial soldier. Clearly, the sound was of something large.

Tullius said, "It's nothing, let's carry on."

The guards seemed to dismiss the sound after that, but Marcus felt strange when he heard it. Kind of as if he wanted to search for what made the noise, or match it with his own voice, somehow.

Tullius indicated toward a priest, who began speaking our last rites.

She didn't get a proper chance though, because the red haired man next to Marcus shouted angrily.

"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!" With those words, he began walking to the block.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!"

 _Yeah, you really don't,_ Marcus thought.

The imperial officer walked forward, and pushed the man down to the block.

"My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?"

Marcus thought, _I know I can't…_

The headsman raised his axe, the sharp blade catching the morning light. Then it fell, and the man's head rolled away with a loud thunk.

 _So undignified,_ Marcus thought, _but at least he faced it with a brave face and an iron will._

Marcus tried to harden his heart, to stop his hands from shaking. He wanted to face his death with the same courage.

The officer pointed at Marcus.

"Next! The imperial-nord halfbreed."

The roar echoed throughout the valley, louder, this time. Some soldiers began shifting nervously. Whatever the noise was, they didn't like it.

The apologetic soldier said, "There it is again, what on earth is making that noise?"

The officer simply shouted for Marcus to come forward once more, ignoring her soldier.

Marcus looked down, and breathed out. He stood tall, and walked forward as proud as he could. He would not die a coward.

Marcus looked down at the block, and was pushed down so his neck prickled against the wood. Gazing up at the axe about to cut short his life, and his height, Marcus breathed out one last time.

An extremely loud roar was heard, coming from the mountain behind Helgen, and a huge flying beast flew out over it, making for the city. It was easily the size of a house, with gigantic wings that looked like they could tear a horse in half.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" shouted Tullius.

It flew over the city, and landed with a loud crash on the tower in front of the prisoners. The headsman fell down, giving Marcus a full view at the beast.

"DRAGON!" screamed several people at once.

It was covered in huge spikes, and the small gaps of exposed skin seen underneath its black scales glowed bright red. It's eyes looked like small gates to some hellish plane, and it looked over the city and its terrified people before acting. It opened its maw and let loose a colossal sound that seemed to shake the heavens, turning the sky red and making it rain fireballs. It then let loose another sound, which channeled into a white circle of energy that exploded near Marcus, sending him flying. His vision went all blurry, not because of the explosion, but because the sound that the dragon made, the energy that came from its mouth, it shook him to his core, stirring something primal within him.

Next thing he knew, Ralof was beside him, pulling him to his feet and screaming at him, "Get up you! The God's aren't going to give us another chance!"

Next thing he knew, Marcus was sprinting through the city, which was already largely on fire and falling apart. He sprinted up into tower with a few other Stormcloaks and on Ralof's command, made his way up through the tower. Another man was up there, trying to move some rocks out of the way so they could climb higher. Marcus was about to help him, when the wall to his right exploded, and the dragon poked its head into the tower, blasting everything it could with fire. Marcus staggered backwards, and fell down the stairs, avoiding most of the blast. Marcus rolled to soften the landing, and broke into a sprint. He jumped down to the first floor, and kicked open a flaming door, only to see the imperial soldier who had helped him initially, dragging a kid away from his (presumably) his father's battered body, and behind a house. From Marcus' position, he could see the dragon land behind the father's still alive body. The boy called out to his dad, begging him to get up. The dragon opened its mouth and promptly blasted the father to fiery pieces with its breath.

The soldier told the boy to stay with an older man, and then he ran over to Marcus.

He shouted, "Still alive Marcus? I'm Hadvar, and you'll want to keep close to me if you want to stay that way."

Marcus simply nodded, still shocked at seeing a boy's father get torched in front of him. Marcus and Hadvar began moving through the flaming wreckage of the city, with soldiers fighting and dying in equal amounts all around him. Occasionally the dragon would fly past, or land near them, and Marcus would be greeted by the sight of another cluster of people dying.

They eventually came to the main entrance to the keep, where they saw Ralof jump down from a wall, and land in front of them.

"Ralof, you damned traitor!" Hadvar shouted, "get out of my way!"

"We're escaping Hadvar," Ralof responded, "You're not stopping us this time!"

Then the dragon came down and busted a large section out of the wall behind the three men, and fixed its murderous gaze on the three of them. Its eyes settled on Marcus. Ralof and Hadvar both ran for the keep, their quarrel cast aside in favor of survival, but Marcus was transfixed. He couldn't seem to move. He just gazed up at the massive hulking mass of life-destroying creature in front of him, as if the world only consisted of him, and the dragon… Then Ralof and Hadvar both sprinted up to him, grabbed him, and practically carried him into the keep. The dragon seemed to watch them go, then leapt into the sky, and continued laying waste to the city.

Inside, Hadvar and Ralof looked at each other, then at Marcus.

Ralof shouted, "What the bloody hell were you doing?! You're lucky that thing didn't incinerate you!"

Hadvar shook Marcus, who seemed still in a daze, before walking over to the centre of the room.

"We need to move," he said, "that thing is probably 10 minutes away from bringing this tower down on our heads, so we best clear out of here."

Ralof turned to Hadvar, "How? That thing is still out there, and there's no other way to escape the city, what with your imposing imperial walls and whatnot!"

Hadvar replied, "Keep your voice down, fool, and you're wrong, there's an underground passage that leads out of the keep!"

Ralof snorted, "How on earth do you know that, imperial?"

Hadvar went quiet, and looked at his feet. Then he responded, "The… leftovers… from the torture room, that's where they are disposed."

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Hadvar looked slightly ashamed, and walked over to a wall where a bunch of keys lay on hooks. He grabbed one, and continued over to a steel door on the opposite side of the room.

Ralof looked at Hadvar, then said quietly, "By Talos Hadvar, what did you sell your soul to the imperials for? Do you even understand the laws we used to have regarding torture?"

Hadvar turned around, face indiginant, "The imperials are the best hope for stability, Ulfric is a bigoted, power hungry -"

Marcus shouted, "Shut it!"

The two arguing men, looked at Marcus. He had regained his sense, and was now looking at the two with a defiant expression.

"You can argue your shitty politics later," Marcus continued, "right now, we need to get the FUCK out of this place before we get crushed!"

The three men looked at each other for a short moment, then they all began moving at the same time. Ralof fetched a sword and an axe from a nearby chest, handing the sword to Marcus, while Hadvar unlocked the steel door on the other side of the room. They headed down further through the keep, with occasional tremors and roof collapses shaking the structure. After rounding one corner, they heard shouts and the clash of iron and steel up ahead.

Breaking into a run, the trio ran to the end of the corridor, and down some stairs, they were greeted with the sight of multiple cages and a couple of Stormcloaks fighting two imperials, an old man and a balding man.

Marcus took it all in within a second, and knew this was the torture chamber. He drew his sword and rushed to the Stormcloak's aid. Marcus came up behind the balding man and buried his sword in his back. The older man turned around in shock to see Marcus, allowing one of the Stormcloaks to sink his battleaxe into the old man's shoulder.

Ralof ran up, with Hadvar close behind.

He said to the two stormcloak's, "Was Jarl Ulfric with you?"

The female stormcloak shook her head, "I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up."

The male stormcloak moved toward Hadvar, "Who's this? Why isn't he bleeding out on the floor?

Marcus intervened, stepping in front of Hadvar, and said, "He's a friend, of no threat to you.

Ralof looked at Hadvar, and said, "more like a lost puppy in my eyes."

Hadvar simply turned away, and moved out of the room, into the caves underneath the keep.

Marcus followed him, but stopped on the way to rifle through a knapsack, taking out a few lockpicks.

Ralof beckoned for the two Stormcloaks to follow, but they shook their head.

"We'll stay here," the woman said, "in case Ulfric comes through."

Ralof nodded, then followed Marcus and Hadvar. They moved further into the caves, until they came to a large chamber. Marcus walked into the center of it, transfixed on the strange amounts of webbing that coated the floor and walls.

He said, "Is this some kind of algae? Is it common in Skyrim?" Marcus crouched down on one knee, inspecting a clump of the stuff on the floor. It was very sticky, kinda like a stringy glue.

Ralof and Hadvar walked into the cavern with him, at first confused, but a dawning understanding gradually crept up on them.

"Get back you fool!" Ralof shouted at Marcus, about 5 meters in front of him. But it was too late.

From a convenient hole in the roof, a gigantic spider dropped down and landed directly on top of Marcus.

Marcus let loose a loud scream of terror, before both Ralof and Hadvar leapt on the spider, slashing and cutting from all sides before it could harm Marcus.

It scuttled away from the three, moving to the edge of the cavern, assessing the threat.

Marcus staggered to his feet and drew his sword, his heart pounding madly in his chest. The spider moved forward quickly, and jumped at the trio, intent on sinking its massive mandibles into one of them. They all jumped aside, then used the opportunity to hack at the beast a little more, until it's remaining six legs gave out, and it slumped down, dead.

"What the fuck was that thing?!" Marcus shouted, moving away from the corpse.

Hadvar said, "A frostbite spider, basically something ripped straight out of your nightmares."

Marcus looked at the thing, and warily poked it with his toe, making sure it was dead. When he was certain, he inspected it up close. It really was the stuff of nightmares, multiple eyes, multiple legs, and two massive spikes under its face dripping venom. Marcus shivered, he really hoped he would never have to see one of those things again.

Once Marcus' breathing had returned to normal, the three moved further ahead. They entered another cavern, one with a stream running through it, and saw a bear. It was asleep, so they didn't engage it, just moving around and continuing on their way. Eventually, they saw a dazzling light up ahead, and knew they had escaped.

Ralof let out a breath of air he didn't realise he'd been holding. Hadvar closed his eyes and sighed in relief. Marcus quickened his pace, eager to be out of the cave.

Marcus gasped as the cold air of Skyrim hit him. He gazed out over the expansive land before him, seeing mountains, trees, and in the very far distance, plains. Then he heard the dragon's roar once again, dropped to the ground as it flew overhead. Marcus was terrified that it would see him, that it would turn and breath down that blast of fire that killed so many others that day. But the dragon flew onward, not noticing Marcus and the other two men hunkered down just outside of the cave exit. It's massive black body flew over the valley, and disappeared over the next mountain. Marcus wanted to feel relieved, but he also knew that if the dragon was leaving now, it thought there was no-one left alive in the city, which was probably correct.

"Looks like he's gone for good this time," Ralof said.

Hadvar said, "no way to know if he'll be back, but this place is going to be swarming with soldiers from all sides soon enough, we need to get out of here."

Marcus and Ralof nodded, and began walking down the hill.

After a short while, Marcus stopped walking. He needed to stop and think.

Ralof and Hadvar stopped, and looked back at him, unsure what he was doing. Marcus just waved them on, and said, "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

Ralof nodded, and said, "Riverwood is just down the road, meet us there, we'll be able to get you more settled."

With those words, Ralof and Hadvar continued onward, eager to put some miles between themselves and Helgen.

Marcus sat down on a rock, a few hundred meters from the cave exit, overlooking a lake. He felt like he was in some kind of dream. In half a day he'd had his life in mortal danger multiple times, one after the other. Not to mention that at least one dragon was now rampant in Skyrim. Dozens of fireballs and arrows hit that beast, and it didn't even slow down. Marcus doubted it even could be killed, at least not by any means that mortals had access to. It razed an entire city without pause, killing most of its occupants. Marcus shivered, he didn't like the chances of any city against that thing. As unsafe as Skyrim was before he arrived, it was about to get a lot more dangerous. Marcus laid back on the rock, and gazed into the heavens above. The sun was just past full rise, meaning there was still around 5 hours of solid daylight left, but it felt like the day had lasted a week. Marcus breathed out yet another sigh, and closed his eyes briefly.

It seemed like the divines weren't done with his soul just yet.

* * *

 **Chapter 1 done and dusted, and it probably sucked. I wanted to have both Ralof and Hadvar together, because I didn't like how killing heaps of Stormcloaks or Imperials has no ramifications later on. I have a few plans for the two of them later on. Also, the Alduin in this story is sort of based off the Deathwing Alduin mod, because I felt like Alduin could be a bit more badass looking. This'll probably end up being weekly updated, maybe more if people really like it. Feel free to review. Again, I appreciate all feedback.**


	2. Chapter 2

Doom Driven Hero: A Courier of Words

The road to Riverwood was picturesque, Marcus decided. The trees were green, and the river to his left was a brilliant shade of blue. Occasionally he could see a small salmon leap its way over a particular section of rapids, intent on traveling in the opposite direction as everything else, as if it left the stove on further back up the river. The water looked quite nice; crystal clear and sparkling. In fact, it looked so clear and clean Marcus decided he should probably use it to clean himself off, so he walked down the river's edge, and began washing his arms, face, and legs. It was a lot colder than he was expecting, but it ended up being quite refreshing. He didn't take to the idea of walking into a new town, covered in soot, dirt, and whatever other undesirable muck one picks up after escaping a burning city. Marcus wasn't sure if any dangerous things lived in Skyrim's rivers, but given the introduction he had to the province, he wasn't about to chance things. After he felt he was clean enough, Marcus moved away from the water, and continued on his way. After another 10 minutes, the breeze and sun had dried him completely. Still, Marcus wasn't entirely pleased with his appearance. His parents had always told him to present himself well when going to a new place, and a tattered tunic with basic fur boots wasn't particularly aesthetic.

Marcus thought, _I guess I should prioritize getting some new clothing._

Continuing down the road, Marcus got lost in his thoughts. He wasn't entirely sure what he was to do when he got to Riverwood. His biggest priority right now was to get the hell out of Skyrim. The civil war was about 10 times worse than he thought it was originally, and now with a most likely immortal dragon added to the mix, Skyrim was rapidly becoming the worst possible place to be on Tamriel.

Marcus thought, _I'll see Ralof and Hadvar in Riverwood, and maybe they can help me get some supplies or_ _directions for the road, then I'll make for_ _a port, and pick my next destination._

Nodding to himself in confirmation of his plan, Marcus continued with renewed vigor in his step. He wasn't sure what other provinces would make for better alternatives, but he'd just have to keep looking.

After a short while, a loud growling was heard to his right. Marcus turned to see a large black wolf making its way slowly toward him, lips curled upwards in a snarl. Saliva dripped down from its teeth, as its eyes fixed on the man in front of it. Marcus drew his sword and readied himself. The wolf sprinted forward and leapt for his neck. Marcus threw himself down to the ground, and the creature went sailing over his head, landing behind him. It quickly turned around and jumped at him again. Marcus rolled to the left and fixed his eyes on the animal. Slowly getting to his feet, Marcus prepared himself. When it next leapt, he sidestepped and jabbed his sword into the side of its chest. It yelped and limped away, most likely to die somewhere else licking its wounds. Marcus watched it go, and when he was certain it wouldn't be coming back for round 2, he relxed. Marcus was just about to sheathe his sword when another wolf bit his right leg hard, clamping its jaws around the knee. Marcus shouted out in pain and went down on one knee, then the wolf let go of his leg, and leapt at his neck. Marcus managed to turn his body so that the wolf bit his shoulder, and then after grabbing his fallen sword with his free left arm, Marcus rammed it into the wolfs underbelly, as it was hanging off his shoulder. The wolf let go and fell down to the ground, dead.

Marcus sat down on the ground, panting heavily. His right leg and shoulder were both bleeding and cut. The first wolf was dead about 50 metres away, and the second was in a heap right next to him. With a groan, Marcus stood up and walked down to the river once again to wash his wounds. He didn't want them to get infected. After another thorough cleaning, Marcus continued down the road, keeping a wary eye on the forest to his left. Eventually, as the sun began to drop below the horizon, Marcus came to the village of Riverwood.

It was a nice looking town, nestled amongst the trees and mountains, just before the landscape opened out into the plains beyond. On approach, Marcus saw a few basic walls positioned over the road, one at each end of the town. In light of recent events however, he couldn't fully appreciate the peaceful simplicity of the village without thinking of how easy it would be for it all to burn. Leaning against a wall just inside the town, was Ralof and Hadvar, chatting quietly. They looked up as Marcus approached, and smiled briefly. As he got closer, the two noticed Marcus' wounds on his arm and leg.

Ralof said, "By Ismir Marcus, what happened to you? The road is only a few kilometres long!"

Marcus walked up and leaned against the wall near them, then let out a breath before responding.

He said, "Wolves. Two of them. One distracted me while the other snuck up behind."

Hadvar said, "We better get you cleaned up, those wounds might get infected."

Ralof nodded in agreement, standing up straighter, then pointing down through Riverwood to the large mill set in the centre of the river.

"My sister owns that mill, we were waiting for your arrival, so you and I could go speak to her about this dragon business. We'll sort out your shoulder and leg afterward, it shouldn't take too long."

Hadvar said, "Gerdur and I don't get along that well, so I'll be at my uncle's if you need me, he's the blacksmith in the centre of town."

Marcus nodded to Hadvar and walked with Ralof over to the mill to the left of the town. On the way, Marcus spied a wood elf and a nord arguing over near another building. It had a sign out front with a pair of scales, indicating it was the general store. Marcus made a point to visit that store as soon as he could. They made their way to the mill, where Ralof walked up behind a woman chopping wood with an axe, and gently tapped her on the shoulder. The woman turned, and gasped.

She said, "Ralof? Is that really you? Thank heavens you're alright!"

Gerdur wrapped her arms around Ralof, breathing out in relief.

Ralof said, "Why are you so worried, sister? It's only been a month or so since we last saw each other?"

Gerdur released her brother, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"It's not that," she said, shaking her head, "we heard that Ulfric had been captured, and I knew you were part of his personal guard."

Gerdur looked over Ralof's shoulder, at Marcus, and frowned. Reading her expression, Ralof turned and gestured to Marcus.

He said, "This is my friend, Marcus, he helped me escape the imperials with Hadvar."

Gerdur said, "Hadvar helped you escape? Why?"

"My guess is that he knew he needed the extra help, and didn't want to leave a childhood friend to die. He's a good man Gerdur, if just a little deluded."

"Hmmm..."

Marcus stepped forward and nodded to Gerdur.

"Nice to meet you Ma'am, I can see the resemblance between you two."

Gerdur laughed, "I don't think anyone's ever called me 'Ma'am' before, but it's nice to meet you too, Marcus."

Ralof said, "We need to talk Gerdur, there's a reason why we were able to escape an entire legion of imperial soldiers."

Gerdur led the two men to a spot just behind the mill, where Ralof sat down on a tree stump, and took a deep breath. Marcus just stood a little to the side, waiting for Ralof to explain their situation. Ralof began talking, telling the story of their capture, the execution that they were due for, and then the dragon attack. Gerdur went wide eyed at the mention of the giant beast, but didn't interrupt the story until Ralof was finished. Ralof went on to explain their fight through the keep and down in the caves below. He finished with their exit into the cave, and the dragon flying out over the mountains.

Gerdur was quiet for a bit, taking it all in. Marcus chose now to speak, affirming what Ralof said.

"I know it sounds unbelievable, but it's true. There is a dragon on the loose in Skyrim, and it just burnt Helgen to the ground."

Gerdur breathed out, then nodded. She said, "It'd explain what I saw earlier, flying down the valley from the south… I thought I was just imagining things… It'd seem not."

Ralof walked up to her and said, "We'll need a place to lie low, the entire area will be swarming with imperials, plus Marcus here is a bit banged up. I don't want to impose Gerdur, but..."

Gerdur shook her head, "Nonsense, you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

The three walked to Gerdur's house, towards the back of Riverwood. Gerdur updated Ralof on all the local events that have happened recently, the sort of things that'd make a big difference in a small town but didn't really seem important to an outsider like Marcus. Apparently there was a break in somewhere, a cow had a miscarriage, and some kid got stuck in a log. Marcus tried to look interested, but the day had taken a huge toll on him, and he felt like his legs were about to give out. Or at least, the bleeding one was. He was taken inside, told to sit on a chair, and while Gerdur was bandaging his arm, he simply fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up a long time later. Someone had moved him to a spare bed in the house. Marcus was surprised he hadn't woken up, since it would have been no easy task to move a grown man across a room.

 _I guess I must have been really tired,_ Marcus thought.

He sat up in the bed, and looked around the house. He could see Gerdur and presumably/hopefully her husband sleeping in a bed at the other end of the house. Ralof was sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Marcus looked over and inspected his now bandaged arm and leg. They felt mostly fine, a little stiff and itchy, but that was all. The wounds hadn't been too deep, and Marcus had always been a fast healer. He laid in bed for a while, sort of hoping the others would wake up, but he didn't know what time it was, and he got bored rather quickly. So, Marcus swung his legs out over the bed, and decided to go for a walk. Making careful efforts not to wake anyone else up, Marcus moved across the room and walked to the door. As he was about to open it, he realized something. Marcus turned around, grabbed a piece of bread off the table, holding it between his teeth, then continued out the door.

It was early morning outside, the sun had only just risen above the horizon. Marcus had slept for a very long time, it seemed like. At least 12 hours. Marcus decided to walk a little out of town, not far enough to come across anymore dangerous wildlife, but far enough to enjoy the scenery. He headed north out of the town, and went across a bridge. Continuing up the road, Marcus saw plenty of wildlife near the river's edge, including rabbits, deer, and all sorts of birds. Peering into the water, he could even see fish swimming about. They chased and nibbled bits of floating debris, poked around in the mud, and aimlessly swam about.

 _Not a care in the world,_ thought Marcus, _I kinda wish I was a fish…_

Marcus stopped, and stared at the ground for a short moment.

 _Actually no, screw that, I don't want to be a fish, that'd suck._

Marcus kept walking. After another few minutes he came to a waterfall. The road snaked off to the left, but to the right was the top of a roaring waterfall. Marcus walked over to the edge of the water again, and gasped.

In front of him, was a vista of spectacular standards. He could see a huge city, flanked by long empty plains, and mountains in the far distance. The river continued down below, flowing around the base of the large mountain to the right. In the bright morning light, it looked like a golden serpent embedded in the landscape. Marcus just stayed there for a while, sitting atop a large boulder, taking it all in. Cyrodiil didn't really have anything like this, as the mountains were never that plentiful, and Marcus hadn't been to the top of any of them anyway. It was almost enough to make him want to stay in Skyrim, if the province had scenery like this.

"Hello?"

A sudden voice caught Marcus off guard, and he slipped off the boulder he was sitting on and fell into the water. He wasn't that close to the waterfall to be in any danger, but the water was really damn cold this morning, so it still wasn't welcome. Staggering to his feet, looked up angrily in the direction of the unknown voice. He was surprised by what he saw. It was a woman, an incredibly beautiful, young woman. Imperial, at a glance, with black hair and a basket of flowers in her arm. She was looking at him with a concerned and slightly amused expression, as if she was unsure whether to apologize, help him up, or laugh. Marcus clambered out of the water and knelt at the shoreline, breathing hard, and looking at her with a slightly angry expression.

The woman simply said, "sorry about that, I only wanted to talk."

Marcus replied, "Well, we're talking now, what did you want?"

She didn't say anything at first, just walked up to him and offered a hand to help him to his feet. He looked at her hand, unsure what her game was. Making a decision, he took her hand and stood up straight.

She said, "I'm Camilla, from Riverwood. Nice to meet you..."

"Marcus."

Camilla nodded as if his name made perfect sense, then turned to face the view Marcus was admiring a few moments ago. Marcus decided she was clearly just a friendly person, and not anyone that should be considered dangerous.

Marcus said, "What are you doing out here? Most of the people in Riverwood seemed to still be asleep."

Camilla replied, "I fetch alchemy ingredients some mornings for my brother's general store. Most of them don't really keep for long."

"I see."

They didn't say anything for a while, each just staring out at the expanse of in front of them. Marcus began to feel uncomfortable, as if she was waiting for him to say something to break the silence, except he didn't have a clue what to say. Looking at her basket, he lighted upon something he could actually say.

He said, "You've gathered some lavender I see, are you using them for a resist magic potion or something else?"

Camilla looked at him, a bit surprised, then blushed.

"I… um… I don't actually know what they're used for, sorry… my brother just keeps them for the adventurers that do, and they occasionally buy them."

"Oh… I see."

They lapsed back into that awkward silence. Marcus fiddled with his fingers, while Camilla rearranged the flowers in her basket for no particular discernible reason.

"Have things been quiet in this part of Skyrim?" asked Marcus, wanting to know if the news of Helgen had spread yet.

Camilla said, "Mostly, there seems to be more bandits running around Whiterun hold than there used to be, but it's mostly quiet."

"Ok."

The silence returned, and Marcus began to think there might be some conversational norms in Skyrim he wasn't aware of. Eventually it got too much for Marcus to bear, so he turned to face her, shook her hand, and said "Nice to meet you Camilla, I need to head back to Ralof and Gerdur, I'm staying with them for a short while."

With those words, he turned and left as quickly as he could, without looking like he was actively trying to move away quickly. Marcus got flustered easily when talking to pretty girls.

When he got back to Riverwood, he caught Gerdur as she was walking to the mill. She nodded in acknowledgment when she saw him, and told him to meet with Ralof as soon as he could at the blacksmith. Apparently Hadvar needed some help with something. So, Marcus made his way to the blacksmith's forge, but didn't see anyone there. He waited for a few minutes, then walked up to the connected house, and knocked on the door. After a few minutes, Hadvar opened the door, and beckoned for him to enter. Inside the room was Ralof, and an older man and woman. Judging by their appearance, Marcus assumed they were relatives of Hadvar. Probably that uncle and aunt he spoke about earlier.

Ralof said, "Marcus, this is Alvor and Sidgurd, they have a proposition for you."

"Let's hear it," Marcus replied.

Alvor and Sidgurd looked at each other before speaking, clearly unsure about whether Marcus would help them or not. Alvor spoke first.

"My nephew here has told us about Helgen, and the dragon attack. So firstly, we'd like to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your assistance, we doubt he'd still be alive if not for you."

"Well… I, uh..." Marcus stammered. He wasn't used to being complimented so earnestly. "I didn't do that much to be honest, Hadvar pulled my ass out of the fire more than the other way around."

Sidgurd said, "Well, we still think it's important to thank you, especially since we need to ask for your help once again."

"Oh?" said Marcus, rising an eyebrow.

Hadvar began speaking, "See, with that dragon out there, we're going to need extra soldiers here in Riverwood, especially since the Jarl of Whiterun hasn't accepted help from either the Stormcloaks or the Empire. As far as dragons go, Riverwood is practically defenseless."

Marcus nodded, understanding.

"So I need to go to Whiterun, the big city on the plains I presume, and tell the Jarl about the situation here? Sounds simply enough..."

Sidgurd and Alvor looked at each other again, looking relieved.

Alvor said, "Well, it isn't that simple. The road isn't as safe as it was, so there is an element of risk involved."

Hadvar said, "You'll be able to help him out though, won't you Uncle? Maybe give him some actual armor and a steel weapon? For both this task and other services rendered?"

Alvor grumbled something about materials not being cheap, but Sidgurd put her hand on his arm, and whispered something in his ear. Alvor quietened down.

Marcus, seeing the disgruntled look Alvor was giving, offered a little something in return.

"I'm happy to trade in my current weapon, and my tunic if you want the cloth..."

"Alvor looked at Marcus' outfit, with it's burn marks and small tears at the sleeves.

"I'll take the sword," he said, "But I don't really need those rags, they're pretty badly damaged."

Sidgurd said, "All the more reason to get him outfitted in something a little better."

Alvor nodded reluctantly, then beckoned Marcus to join him at the forge.

"Come give me a hand Marcus, I'll need your measurements."

In an hour or so, Marcus was set up in a relatively new set of leather armor. Luckily Alvor already had a decent set in his inventory, and it didn't need much alteration to fix Marcus. Alvor also gave him a new steel sword, taking his iron one off him in exchange. Marcus liked his new equipment, feeling he was now better prepared for the world of Skyrim. He made sure to thank Alvor and Sidgurd profusely for their help, but they just waved him off.

"Pay us back by delivering our message," they said.

However, Marcus still felt a little light, in a sense. He'd need a bit of gold for traveling expenses, since once he got to Whiterun he wouldn't be planning on sticking around. He'd deliver that message, and shoot through to Solitude, where he'd grab the first ship out of Skyrim. To do that, he'd need enough money for a night or two in a tavern, the carriage trip to Solitude, and the payment for the boat ride. But despite the need for money, Marcus was not going to go running back to Alvor or Gerdur for more help, as he felt he already had imposed enough, eating their food and wearing their stuff. Instead, he was going to call upon that education he prided himself on having.

It didn't take too long to find the ingredients. Riverwood was in a pretty bountiful location in terms of flora. After an hour or so, Marcus had grabbed the stuff he needed, as well as a few extra flowers and mushrooms that were clearly regional plants and he wanted to test them out too. The most important rule of alchemy Marcus had been taught was basically to find a bunch of stuff, and mix it all together. Some more 'fanatic' alchemists preferred to eat the ingredients to find out what they did, but that was actually a huge health hazard. Most of the alchemists that had written the books Marcus studied at home died early deaths, go figure. Ralof told him about the alchemy lab in the Riverwood inn, so Marcus headed there and began making a few options. He opted for some basic fortification potions, as they were easy to make and were worth a little bit. While he was mixing them up, Marcus could see out of the corner of his eye, a nord watching him from a seat intently. After he was finished, Marcus walked over to the man, recognizing him as the nord who was arguing with the elf yesterday.

Marcus said, "You've been watching me for a while… something on your mind?"

The nord nodded.

"I wanted to ask something of you," he said, "I'm Sven, and I am having a little problem with an elf named Faendel..."

Marcus didn't say anything, just waiting for Sven to continue.

"See, the little guy has been making eyes at a girl of mine, and it's been getting really annoying, so I've decided to put a stop to it."

Marcus said, "Who's this girl of yours?"

"Her name is Camilla, she's the brother of that man that owns the Riverwood trader. We aren't 'officially' dating yet, as she still needs some… convincing. Besides, she knows I'm the best man in all of Riverwood, so that elf is just kidding himself thinking he has a chance. I'm merely speeding up the process by intervening."

Marcus looked down at the floor, thinking. When he looked back up, he was wearing a blank face.

"Tell me what you want me to do."

Sven brightened up. "Wonderful! Here, take this letter and give it to Camilla, saying it's from Faendel. That ought to stop her spending anymore time with the little weasel."

Marcus said, "I understand." Stony faced as ever.

Marcus walked out of the building, and as soon as he was out of earshot of the inn, he made straight for the mill.

' _Let's see what Faendel thinks of this situation,'_ Marcus thought.

He found the elf easy enough, cutting blocks of firewood near the big water wheel. Marcus walked up at tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hmm?" The elf turned around and saw Marcus. "How can I help you?"

Marcus held up the letter from Sven, "Sven has asked me to deliver this letter to Camilla, saying that it's from you."

Faendel snatched the letter from Marcus' hand, and gave it a quick read.

"Ha!" the elf laughed, "Two can play at this game. Here, I had the same idea myself a while ago, let me fetch my own letter."

The elf gave Sven's letter back to Marcus, and ran away quickly, off to his house in the distance. Marcus had just enough time to wonder if the high altitude affected the average intelligence of Skyrim's inhabitants before Faendel came back, holding his own letter.

"Here, give Camilla this letter instead."

Marcus said, "I understand." He took the new letter from the elf, and put it in his pocket. Faendel went back to chopping wood, and Marcus walked off in the direction of the general store. He knocked on the door, waiting for a response. The door opened, and a middle-aged man appeared.

"What is it?" he said.

"I'd like to trade a few things," Marcus said, "Is the store open?"

"Of course!" the man exclaimed, "You don't need to knock! We only close at sundown. I'm Lucian, pleased to meet you."

Marcus reciprocated the greeting, and entered the building. He held up the small satchel of potions he had made, and placed them on the counter.

"Hmmm…" Lucian looked at the potions, and inspected the labels Marcus put on them, "I'll give you 200 gold for the lot."

"Seems fair."

They shook on the deal, and Lucian handed over the purse.

Marcus said, "By the way, is Camilla here? I have a few letters for her."

Lucian looked a bit surprised, but then composed himself, and pointed to a set of stairs at the back of the building behind Marcus.

"She's just on the second floor," he said.

Marcus walked up, and saw Camilla sitting on a bed, reading a book. She looked up when Marcus entered the room, and smiled brightly.

"Nice to see you again Marcus." she said, "How have you been?"

"I've been fine, thanks Camilla. I've just got some letters here for you."

Camilla frowned, seemingly she had hoped Marcus was here for another, less formal reason.

"This one's from Sven," Marcus passed the letter Sven had wrote, before holding out the one Faendel had written "and this one is from Faendel." He watched her expression reading the first few words of each letter.

"Are you sure?" she said, "they are addressed differently..."

"Read them," was Marcus' response.

Camilla furrowed her brow, and read the letters carefully. Her expression changed between confusion, anger, and disgust, then understanding. She looked up at Marcus, mouth slightly open in shock.

"Why did they do this...?"

Marcus smiled at her, then said "You're being courted by two idiots who couldn't come up with a proper way to gain your affections, so they each resorted to underhanded manipulation."

Camilla threw away the letters, growling in frustration. She buried her face in her hands.

"Idiots, the pair of them… This used to happen back in Cyrodiil too... why can't the men in this town just leave me alone?!"

Marcus cocked his head to the side, "Isn't obvious?"

Camilla looked up at Marcus, glimmers of hope entering her eyes as she processed what she thought he was saying.

"Are you saying you think I'm-"

"Ratios." Marcus said. "It's all about the ratios of single men in the town to single women. Clearly, there isn't as many of the latter in the places you've been to as the former, so you receive more attention than what is considered normal."

"Oh."

Marcus looked down at her with innocent eyes. Camilla looked up at him with slightly disappointed eyes. They were both silent for a while, and Marcus began having flashbacks to the morning's dreaded awkward silence. Camilla seemed to be thinking something over, confliction in her eyes, before she decided upon a course of action. She stood up suddenly, grabbed Marcus' head in her hands, and pressed her lips to his. Marcus was shocked, and stood rigid for a second, unsure whether to return or break this kiss. Camilla was very pretty, but he didn't know that much about her. Then again, did he have to? She seemed nice enough... He didn't have to decide however, as Camilla released him shortly after, and looked into his eyes.  
"That was thanks," she said, a look in her eyes that Marcus couldn't place.

"Umm… you're welcome?" Marcus returned shyly.

A million thoughts went through Marcus' head in about a second. Chief amongst them was the thought: _'She likes you, Marcus.'_

But that made Marcus sad, as despite his inner wishes to pursue this avenue that had seemingly opened up to him with this attractive lady, he wasn't planning on sticking around. He also knew that any further romantic action would only make it harder to leave Riverwood. It was already hard enough, since it was the only place on Nirn where he actually had a few friends. So he simply nodded to Camilla, thanked her for no apparent reason, turned on his heel, and walked back downstairs and out the door.

Camilla watched him go. She was sad he hadn't returned her advances as readily as she had liked, especially since she knew the attraction was reciprocated. It seemed like he wasn't really a homebody, someone that would settle down in the heat of the moment. Camilla realized she'd just have to look elsewhere for a partner. It was a long shot to hope that any handsome wanderer who entered Riverwood would be able to settle down. She decided to ask Lucian if she could go with one of the merchant caravans the next time they passed through. This town wasn't doing anything good for her.

Marcus got outside, and looked at the sun. It was about midday it seemed, so he probably had enough time to make it to Whiterun before dusk. Marcus wanted to get out of Riverwood before he got embroiled in anything else that would make it harder to leave without looking back. He was about to leave through the northern gate for Whiterun, when a voice called out to him.

"Marcus! Stop!"

Marcus turned around. It was Hadvar, running after him, hand raised in a halting gesture.

Marcus stopped walking, and headed back to Hadvar.

"I was hoping I'd be able to catch you. I was afraid you'd already left for Whiterun."

"Nah," Marcus said, "I had… a few issues to take care of first."

Hadvar nodded, breathing hard. He reached into a bad and held out something to Marcus. Marcus looked down at it. It was a dagger, similar to most steel daggers except it had a thinner, slightly longer blade.

"It's a knife I made myself as a teenager, it has served me well over the years, from gutting animals to killing bandits. I… want you to take it, as thanks."

Marcus blinked, he didn't know what to say at first.

"Hadvar, I don't want to take that away from you if it's that special..."

"Marcus please, you and Ralof saved my life, regardless of what you think. Besides, it'll do you more good out there than with me. I'll be joining up with the legion again soon, and we don't use knives that often."

Marcus slowly took the knife and its sheathe from Hadvar, and tied it to his sword harness. Sword on the left, dagger on the right.

Hadvar said, "I take it you won't be staying in Skyrim after you deliver that message…?"

Marcus shook his head, "I'd like to make a life away from the war and dragons, no offense."

"None taken."

The two men stood in silence, neither one wanting to say goodbye. Eventually, Hadvar clapped Marcus on the shoulder.

"Daylight is wasting. Good luck Marcus."

Hadvar turned and walked back into Riverwood, leaving Marcus alone on the road. He watched Hadvar leave for a short while, then he too turned and walked down the road, in the opposite direction. After a while, Marcus passed the spot he was at in the morning, and looked at the view as he passed by. It seemed less impressive the second time. He rounded the mountain, and saw Whiterun through the gaps in the trees. His last proper destination before he started making his way out of Skyrim, he hoped.

A very small part of Marcus however, knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

* * *

 **This chapter was all over the place, to be honest. I did a lot of editing and changing, and there was a lot of context I wanted to give for Marcus' adventures later on. Plus it was kinda tricky to do the whole 'we need you to go to Whiterun' with both Hadvar and Ralof. Plus I wanted to add that bit about Camilla. It took longer to write than I wanted, and ended up longer in length than normal. Ah well.**

 **I'll probably skip a few quests here and there, since we've all done them a million times and they're old news.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I've decided to skip a few quests here and there, simply because this story would take far too long to get through if I covered it all in any sort of detail. Plus, let's face it, many quests are basically carbon copies of others. I'll still probably do a 'flashback' sort of thing if I want any particular section to be highlighted, so the character development shouldn't be impacted. This chapter is going to be pretty big, as the Dragon fight section (and it's immediate aftermath) will probably take up at least the same amount of words as any of the other chapters, plus I wanted to cover a bit of other stuff too. I should mention, because most of you are American, I am NOT using the imperial system. Metric all the way. Also, dragons in this story are basically minor gods that take a lot of effort to bring down. The average dragon will be as tough as a legendary/ancient dragon, while a legendary dragon will basically be an Alduin Mk II.**

 **Yeah, Marcus has his work cut out for him this chapter...**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: His Whole World Unravelled

Marcus hated himself. He really did. He should have stuck to his original plan: deliver the message to the Jarl, then high tail it out of Skyrim. No distractions, no other jobs.

But… the court wizard made it sound so simple. A quick fetching of a tablet in some broken down ruin, in and out in about an hour, and he'd have the gratitude of Whiterun at his back, which would certainly count for something very valuable or useful to someone in such a desperate state as him. It sounded too good for Marcus to resist. How hard could it be searching through a small ruin? At worst he'd have to avoid some flimsy trap or two? Right? RIGHT?

In actuality, bleak falls barrow was a colossal place. The exterior was covered in bandits, which Marcus was lucky to catch mostly asleep since the trip up the bloody mountain took half a day and it was nightfall by the time he reached the summit. If that wasn't bad enough, the inside of the ruin was a kilometer and a half long series of caverns and rooms filled with zombies and giant spiders and traps and bats and… all sorts of evil stuff.

Marcus lost track of how many times he nearly died, how many times sheer luck had saved his sorry hide. Whether it was an instinctive duck at the right time, or a charging draugr triggering a trap in front of him and killing itself, or a lucky pool of oil that could be ignited, Marcus began to think someone or something was watching out for him, making sure he made it to the end of that hell hole. Once he got there… well, it was if the rest of the barrow had been a tutorial or something. The claw he got off Arvel, who died from running into another trap, unlocked a gigantic door to the central chamber. Inside was a large cavern, with a raised platform at the far end. It consisted of a chest, a wall, and a large coffin. As Marcus approached the platform, he had felt drawn to the strange wall.

It had a bunch of text on it he couldn't recognize, written in lines across the surface of the wall. It didn't look like anything Marcus had seen before, and he had studied daedric and most elvish forms of text. But this writing… those symbols… they were so strange, yet so irritatingly familiar. As if Marcus should have known what they were, but just didn't. One section stood out to him though. A few symbols in the middle of the wall seemed to glow, and when he approached them, they grew brighter and brighter. Marcus walked toward it like a zombie, unable to stop himself, hand outstretched to touch the symbols. When his fingers brushed against the carved stone, he was overcome with an overpowering feeling, and his vision went white. Marcus collapsed to the floor, on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. The three symbols had seared themselves onto his vision, and Marcus instantly knew what they translated to.

Fus.

Don't ask how he knew, or what it actually meant, but he knew what the word was. After another few seconds, Marcus' vision returned to normal, and he stood up. Panting heavily, he braced himself on the wall, rubbing his face, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.

Then the coffin a few meters away blew upon, and a giant of a Draugr stepped out. Drawing his sword and dagger in each hand, Marcus blinked away the spots on his vision and prepared himself. It had a huge axe in its hands, and if Marcus wasn't mistaken, the blade seemed to emanate frost. It lumbered forward and swung an overhead blow at Marcus. He dodged to the left, and darted forward with his sword and jammed it into the ribs of the creature. It didn't even falter, it simply swung its axe around again and knocked Marcus across the platform, his sword still stuck in its torso. It walked forward and swung another overhead blow at him, and Marcus was just barely able to scoot backward, so the blade embedded itself in the stone between his legs. Knowing this was probably the best chance he'd get, Marcus jumped up at stabbed his dagger into the dirty rotten flesh of the draugr's neck. It seemed to look at Marcus for a second, cocking its head to the side, then it punched him full in the stomach. Marcus collapsed to the floor, winded, his mouth gasping breathlessly like a fish. The draugr wrenched its axe out of the floor, and swung at Marcus again. There was no way he'd be dodging this hit. The blade caught him diagonally across the chest, opening up a frostbitten wound from his bellybutton to his navel and throwing him across the platform. Pain blasted into Marcus' mind. If it wasn't for the leather armor slowing the blade down, that hit would have been fatal. It still might have been, had Marcus not immediately rolled sideways off the platform, landing in the dirt and gravel 2 meters below, and drunk the last of the healing potions he had found on the way in. It closed up the chest wound, but there was still heavy muscle damage on the inside, internal bleeding, and enough pain to make Marcus pass out if he wasn't full of adrenaline. He staggered to his feet, and stumbled over to the stairs at the foot of the platform. At the top of those stairs, he could see draugr slowly walking down. It was taking its time, as if it knew it had already won. At that point, Marcus thought it had. He didn't have any weapons left, and was in a pretty bad state, while that mass of rotting flesh seemed to shrug off the blades in its chest and neck.

But Marcus had one more trick up his sleeve, or rather, in his pocket. Potions weren't the only thing he picked up on the way in. He'd found a certain scroll, and Marcus knew enough about them to know it contained a destruction spell. He pulled out the scroll, and held it in his left hand, allowing the magicka to pour from the parchment into his right hand. The magicka swirled in his palm, then ignited. Ignoring the pain in his chest, Marcus ran up the steps and splayed open his hand about a meter from the draugr's chest, just as it had raised its axe over its head. A fireball erupted from his outstretched hand, and slammed into the chest of the undead monster, lifting it off its feet and hurling it to the top of the stairs. Marcus kept on running, and when he reached the creature, he ripped his sword out of its chest while it was still trying to get up, and began slashing like a madman at the thing. Bits of grey, dried flesh went everywhere as it tried to stand up, or push Marcus away, but Marcus had the advantage as he stood over the monster. It still landed plenty of kicks and punches on Marcus, but its axe was a few feet away, so Marcus ignored them and kept attacking. Eventually, after one of its arms had been hacked off, as well as most of its face, the erie blue light in its eyes faded and it stopped moving. Marcus didn't want to take chances though, and with a careful overhead chop, he decapitated the undead SOB.

Marcus staggered back, and picked up his dagger off to the side. It must have fallen out of the creatures neck during his hacking frenzy. He made moves to sheathe his weapons, but as he looked down to make sure he actually put the weapons in their sheathes, he noticed a large amount of blood was coming through his clothes. As the adrenaline faded, Marcus began to feel a lot more pain, and a lot less steady. All those rapid movements, plus the kicks and punches from the draugr must have reopened his chest wound. He knelt down on the stone, his vision turning dizzy. How much blood had he lost? Would he die now, after he had come so far? Marcus thought quickly. He had only one option left, and it might kill him, however not using that option would certainly kill him. Marcus was pretty sure his chest was basically split in two at this point, given the amount of blood dripping off his chest armor. See, apart from basic education and alchemy, Marcus' father had made sure he learnt a little restoration magic, back when he still cared about Marcus' safety. The problem was Marcus had never been very good at it. Healing a few splinters was alright, but any more than that was very dangerous. If he didn't have enough magicka to heal himself, then the magical demand would draw from his very life force, effectively killing him. The last time Marcus tried to heal anything significant was when he was 14, and broke his arm. He got it about halfway healed before he passed out and woke up in an infirmary.

Still, at this point, it was the best plan he had. Marcus closed his eyes, and summoned the familiar glow into his hands. Focusing on the pain his midsection, he channeled magic through through his hands, and began trying to heal himself. It worked, initially. He could feel his muscles reforming, his skin reconnecting across his chest, his innards sliding back into their proper position. But… he knew he couldn't keep it up. A splitting headache started up, and Marcus' vision began to get blurry again. The edges of his vision pulsed red in unison with his heartbeat and the throbbing in his skull. An inky darkness began creeping across his vision from the edges. He was just about to pass out, when the pain in his chest vanished. Marcus instantly canceled the spell, and looked down at his chest. It wasn't bleeding anymore.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Marcus laid down on the cold floor for a minute, just resting and appreciating the fact that he wasn't dead or in the process of becoming so. After a short while Marcus stood up again, and began looking around. His job still wasn't entirely done, he needed to find that tablet. He searched the draugr's corpse, but aside from the giant axe, it didn't have anything on it. Looking at the axe, Marcus decided to take it. He could probably get a good price for it in Whiterun, due to its enchantment. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. Marcus found the tablet in the coffin. It looked like a strange map, with a rough picture of Skyrim on it and a bunch of little marks throughout the province.

 _It doesn't look like much,_ Marcus thought, _certainly not enough to warrant that crap I've gone through it get…_

Marcus tucked it into his pack, and began looking for an exit. He saw another small set of stairs at the far end of the cavern, and figured that'd probably be it. He read once in a book that most nordic burial chambers had secret exits to the surface after the central chamber, so that staircase would be a good place to look.

Once he was back out in the cool Skyrim air, Marcus let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The barrow had such stale air it seemed, so it was very refreshing and relaxing to breath something that hadn't been floating around in a room for several thousand years.

 _I'm never going in one of those places again,_ Marcus decided.

That small part in his head knew that was another plan that wouldn't last.

* * *

Back to the present, where Marcus was in the process of hating himself outside Warmaiden's. He wanted his leather armor repaired, so he was sitting outside the shop cleaning his sword in the linen shirt and pants he wore under his armor that he purchased when he was last in Whiterun. He hoped that whatever the Jarl gave him for his work was substantial, because he didn't have a whole lot of the money he made in Riverwood left. The weapon cleaning kit, the clothes, and now the repair work had set him back a bit. Marcus briefly wondered which other province he might end up in. Maybe Hammerfell? Or perhaps Elsweyr? He didn't want to go anywhere that had extensive thalmor influence, because they tended to hate humankind. Marcus wasn't particularly fussed on them either, to be honest. The creak of a wooden door behind him indicated his armor was finished, so Marcus stood up and turned. There was Adriane Avenici, the town blacksmith, holding his set of cleaned and repaired set of leather armor.

"Thanks Adriane," said Marcus, taking it off her hands.

"No worries Marcus," she replied, "By the way, the damage caused to the armor was because of a battleaxe, you weren't wearing it when the damage happened, were you?"

"Ah… nope, definitely not."

Adriane nodded, "Well, if you were, I suppose you wouldn't be standing here."

Marcus just smiled awkwardly, took the armor, and left. He'd already paid her, so all he needed to was put it on, see the Court Wizard, then get the hell out of Skyrim before he got wrapped up in ANY more adventures. Marcus didn't really see himself as the adventuring sort, not the kind to stand out in a crowd or put his hand up for dangerous tasks. All the dangerous things he'd had to do in the last few years had basically been because of his inherently poor luck it seemed. It was a strange mix; he had enough bad luck to get into bad situations, but enough good luck to survive them. Marcus just wanted a simple life, he wanted to become a statistic in some dusty folder in a library. A regular, tax-paying Joe. He figured he could potentially find that somewhere, if he looked hard in enough provinces and the divines gave him a break. After putting on his armor, Marcus made his way to the general store to sell the big frost axe. The store owner gave him a pretty good price on it, enough to get a few provisions for the trip out of Skyrim, but Marcus didn't like the way the man said 'Do come back' as he was about to leave. Marcus made a mental note to only go there if he really, really had to. Before his trip up to the Jarl's palace, Marcus stopped at the alchemist's store and got a couple healing potions. He wasn't expecting any real danger on a carriage ride, but it never hurt to be prepared, especially in Skyrim, it seemed. As he walked out of the Market district, Marcus saw a little girl tug at the hem of an older woman's dress at a produce stall.

"Mummy," the little girl said, "Do you have time to read me a storybook I found?"

The woman smiled a sad smile, and picked the little girl up and kissed her on the cheek.

"Sorry Mila, but I need to sell as much of these vegetables before nightfall, they won't keep another day you know..."

"Awww."

The little girl looked downcast as she was placed back down, so the mother took pity and ruffled her hair, saying "Well, if it makes you feel any better, we'll have dinner at the Tavern tonight, how's that?"

The girl looked much brighter, and hugged her mother's leg before running off. The mother smiled as she watched her go. Marcus just stood, watching from a set of stairs leading up to the large dead tree in the center of Whiterun.

The little girl reminded him of someone. Someone from his past. He knew who. The innocent voice, the carefree attitude… Marcus shook his head to clear the bad memories, and kept walking.

Walking up the stairs to the palace, Marcus planned out his conversation with the court wizard. He wanted to make sure the wizard got the idea that Marcus had done something worth an incredible amount, without actually making it seem like he was demanding anything. Marcus got the impression from the wizard that he considered himself a bit above the common man intellectually, regardless of whether or not he actually was. After heaving open the door to Dragonsreach, Marcus made his way up to the wizard's room, and decided on the best approach. He'd begin with a recount of the dangers of the barrow, before handing over the tablet and asking for a reward. Marcus didn't care too much about making a lasting impression on the man, since he wouldn't be sticking around in Skyrim.

Walking into the wizard's room, he found Farengar leaning over his enchantment table, studying some knife. He turned as Marcus walked up behind him, an expectant look on his face. Marcus sat on the edge of Farengar's desk, and crossed his arms.

He began in a calm, collected voice, "You know… when you told me about the dragonstone, you made it sound so simple, like a simple errand. Go to a place, get a stone. You never told me Bleak Falls Barrow was a gigantic, kilometer and a half long series of caverns and rooms filled to the brim with F*CKING ZOMBIES!"

Farengar was taken aback by Marcus' outburst. He stepped back nervously, and stammered a little in a quiet voice.

"Well… uh… they're actually called draugr..."

Marcus just groaned and rubbed his face, then shook his head. He turned and reached into his pack, and procured the dragonstone. He placed it onto the table with a loud thud, then nodded to it.

"There's your fucking rock, I hope you're happy."

Farengar composed himself, and walked over to the tablet and examined it. He made a few happy clicks with his tongue.

"Ah yes, this is indeed the dragonstone, it seems you're a cut above the usual brutes that the Jarl throws my way."

"I'm glad," Marcus said in a slightly irritated tone, "What about my reward?"

Farengar looked up from the tablet, and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"You'll have to see the Jarl about that, I wouldn't have anything you'll be interested in."

Marcus groaned slightly, and turned to leave the room, only to see a very flustered Irileth standing there, panic and a few vestiges of fear written on her face.

"Farengar! You need to come at once! A dragon has been sighted nearby!" She looked at Marcus and nodded to him. "You should come too."

Marcus almost fainted on hearing those words. Fear gripped his heart in an icy hold, and he needed to steady himself on the desk nearby. He stared down at the ground, eyes wide, heart pounding. A dragon… near Whiterun. Visions of Helgen flashed through his head.

 _We're dead,_ he thought, _we're all dead. Nothing could stop that dragon, we're doomed._

Farengar ran forward, excited, and asked about the dragon in joyfully curious tones.

"What? Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

Irileth frowned at him, "Take this more seriously Farengar! If the dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it… Head up to the entrance to the balcony, Balgruuf is there with the guard that brought me the news."

Farengar ran out of the room, and headed up the stairs. Irileth made moves to follow him, but noticed Marcus still sitting on the desk, staring at the floor, shaking slightly.

She said, "Come on Marcus, let's not keep the Jarl waiting."

Marcus just looked up at her, an empty, sad look on his face.

He said, in solemn tones, "At Helgen there was an entire imperial legion, on top of the regular garrison. They probably had twice as many soldiers in their city as you have in yours… and they were massacred in hours..."

Irileth considered what he said, pulled herself to her full height, set her jaw, and spoke back to him.

"Our hearts are strong, and our steel is sharp, that's all anyone can hope for."

Marcus just shook his head sadly, looking back at the floor.

"You can't fight it, can't resist it, you can hardly even harm it… your safest option is to start running, as hard and as fast as you can..."

Irileth took a step forward and grabbed Marcus by the shoulder.

"If it comes to that, that's what we'll do, but right now, you need to come with us. We will need your advice to the Jarl."

Marcus considered her words, then nodded dumbly and followed Irileth to where the Jarl was waiting. None of them understood. Even if it wasn't the same dragon, Marcus didn't see why it wouldn't be just as strong. Helgen got engulfed in fire and wreckage within minutes of that beast showing up, and 90 percent of the populace was dead in the first hour. Plus, Helgen had stone walls and keep towers. Most of Whiterun was just freaking wood. It'd go up like a torch. He realized that the Jarl probably wanted to hear about things that Whiterun could do to stop the beast, but Marcus didn't know what to tell him.

"Hello Mr Balgruuf sir, I strongly suggest you, your men, and your citizens run like hell for the hills while your city burns."

Yeah, that'd turn out great.

Marcus arrived at the top of the stairs, above the main hall of dragonsreach. The Jarl was there, with a guard, as well as both Farengar and Irileth.

Irileth spoke to the guard, "Go ahead, tell them what you told me, about the dragon."

The guard shifted nervously, before talking.

"Uhh, that's right. We were at the Western Watchtower when we first saw it flying down from the south. It was fast, faster than anything I'd ever seen before."

Balgruuf said, "What did it do? Is it attacking the watchtower?"

The guard shook his head, "No my lord, it was just circling overhead when I left. I'd never run so fast in my life, I thought it would come after me for sure..."

Marcus interrupted, desperate to know one fact.

"What colour was the dragon? Was it red and black?"

The guard shook his head quickly, "No, it was green and brown."

Marcus turned to the Jarl, "It isn't the same dragon as in Helgen, but that doesn't mean it isn't as strong."

The Jarl nodded and dismissed the guard, telling him to head to the barracks. The Jarl walked over to a desk showing both a map of Skyrim and a map of Whiterun, looking down at them for a few second. He sighed deeply, then he turned to Irileth.

"Irileth," he said in a slightly apologetic tone, "you'd better gather some guardsmen, and get down there..."

Irileth brought her fist to her chest and bowed, before speaking.

"I've already ordered my best men to muster out the front of this building."

Balgruuf nodded, a thankful look on his face.

"Good… don't fail me, please. Farengar, before you ask, you can't go. I don't want to lose both of you, we'll need you here working on ways to fight these dragons."

Irileth began jogging down the stairs, while Farengar quickly headed back to his study. Marcus couldn't believe what he was hearing. These maniacs were going to fight the dragon? He had heard about pureblooded nords being stubborn in the face of danger, but this was being stubborn in the face of complete and utter annihilation. But it was about to get much worse for Marcus.

The jarl turned to him, and said to him:

"There's no time to stand on ceremony my friend, I need your help again. I… I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon."

Marcus blinked, had he heard that correctly?

"I'm sorry, WHAT did you just ask me to do?" He said, staring at the Jarl with an unbelieving face.

The Jarl placed both of his hands on Marcus' shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes.

"You survived Helgen, Marcus… you have more experience with dragons that anyone else here. They'll need you down there."

Marcus couldn't believe what his ears were telling his brain.

"I didn't try to fight the thing! I ran underground and escaped through a cave! I know as much about fighting them as anyone!"

The Jarl took his hands of Marcus' shoulders and turned, walking a few steps before turning again and pointing toward the entrance to dragonsreach.

"Out that door is a city full of people who can barely hold a sword, Marcus. You proved your competence as a fighter getting that stone for Farengar, so I know you can hold your own! Whiterun needs you, lad."

Marcus leaned against a wall, burying his face in his hands. He was only 21 for goodness sake. Most men in Cyrodiil hadn't even left their parents' home by his age, now he was being asked to fight a bloody dragon?

"We don't even know if they can be killed," he said, his face still in his hands, "Do we?"

Balgruuf sighed, "No, we don't. But that just makes what you're going to do even more important."

Marcus looked up at him, his eyes were glassy with fear-induced tears.

Balgruuf said, "If you and the rest can hold it off for long enough, we will be able to get most of everyone out of this city. You'll be saving countless lives..."

Marcus stood up straight, and looked at Jarl Balgruuf.

"Wait… 'If we can hold it off for long enough'? You mean to say we'll sacrifice our lives to buy you time?"

The Jarl just looked at his feet, sheepishly, not answering. Which, was a pretty definite answer on its own.

"I can't force you to do this Marcus, you're not one of my vassals. But I'm asking you, from one man to another. I'd be down there myself if I wasn't so damn old. Do what you will, but remember, your future self is judging you right now, through your memories. Would you end up disappointing?"

Marcus turned away from the Jarl, and wiped his eyes dry. Did the Divines have fun messing with his soul? Would he ever get a break? He didn't know.

But what the Jarl said made sense. An entire city of people were now depending on him, Irileth, and a group of soldiers to defend them with their lives. Would he be able to face himself if he ran away, knowing his actions might have made a difference? Probably not. But at the same time, Marcus didn't want to die. He'd avoided dying so much in the last few days, he didn't want to walk willingly into the jaws of death after he expended so much trying to save himself. But would there be anything in himself worth saving if he didn't do what was right?

Marcus thought back to Helgen, and the disaster that unravelled. The father telling his son to run, just before he was burnt alive… the screams of people trapped in burning buildings. Marcus thought back to the marketplace this morning, with the little girl and her mother. What were their chances if Marcus didn't do something? Visions of the pair burning and screaming flashed through his head, among with everyone else he'd seen in the city. Marcus made his decision. He stood up straight and set his jaw.

"I'll do it," he declared.

Balgruuf smiled, and thanked him profusely.

"We'll make sure the city knows of your bravery, whatever the outcome."

Marcus simply nodded, trying not to shake or whimper. He turned to head down the stairs to Irileth, but the Jarl stopped him. Marcus looked back, and saw that Balgruuf was holding out something to him. It was a small ring, that glimmered slightly with red energy.

Balgruuf said, "Take this, it'll help against the fire."

Marcus nodded and accepted the ring, slipping it over his finger as he headed down the stairs. He tried not to think of what he'd just gotten himself into, but he did feel a small amount of relief. He'd once been told that people were here, on Nirn, to make a difference. Otherwise, why else would they be here? Marcus knew that come what may at the watchtower, he could rest somewhat easy, knowing that in the end he'd stepped up and tried to do something right,

Once he was out the door to dragonsreach, he was greeted by the sight of about 15 men, and Irileth. She looked over at him, looked him up and down, and simply asked a question.

"Are you ready?"

Marcus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

They made their way through the city. The dozens of fearful eyes of the city's inhabitants watched the group of soldiers go marching past. Many of them made signs to the divines, blessing the people who would most likely go on to die for them.

 _Seems they've all heard about the dragon,_ Marcus thought.

They made their way to the bottom of Whiterun. No-one had volunteered to help them. To be honest, Marcus didn't blame them. It's not as if it wasn't their fight, but it was a soldier's duty to protect them, first and foremost. As for Marcus, well, he didn't really know how he was any different to the civilians, he guessed he was just reckless or stupid enough to place the lives of strangers above his own. The group of men (and one woman), continued out the front gate, heading down past the drawbridge, and past the stables. As they walked down the road, Marcus heard two soldiers behind him talking quietly.

One of them said, "You don't think we'll die do you?"

"Probably" was the reply.

The first man said, "Why? It's only one creature, what makes you think that?"

"Well, look at it this way. Only one guy here has dealt with a dragon before, and he's been practically shitting himself since we left Whiterun."

Marcus gulped. Was it that obvious he was scared? He began walking a little straighter, and began scanning the horizon. On the exterior, the scared young man vanished, and was replaced with a nonchalant fighter. Marcus was still very terrified, but it wouldn't be good for the morale of the group if they all saw him quaking in fear. As they approached the watchtower, it became obvious that the dragon had already attacked. The entire place was falling apart, and a huge smoke column was curling its way upwards to the heavens.

The fortifications and walls were crumbled, and the tower itself had several holes in it. Plus there was a load of things on fire, even the stone seemed to be burning, if that was even possible. The group took cover behind a group of boulders and surveyed the area. Irileth scanned the wreckage and the sky, covering her eyes against the midday sun with one hand.

She said, "There's no signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here..."

A few soldiers muttered agreement.

She turned and spoke to them all, "I know it looks bad, but we need to find out what's happened here, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. So spread out, and look for survivors."

They all unsheathed their weapons and began running to the remains of the watchtower. Marcus drew his steel sword in his right hand, with his dagger in his left. The watchtower looked very bad, as Irileth had said, but it wasn't Helgen levels of bad, so Marcus began feeling hopeful that this second dragon wasn't as tough as the first one. Maybe they stood a chance after all, however small?

Marcus went with Irileth up to the tower, and ran up the collapsing steps to the doorway. As they got near, a fearful looking man with burnt armor crawled out from behind the door, looking around with frantic movements.

"Guardsman!" Irileth shouted, "What happened here? Is there anyone left?"

The man looked around at the sky with a terrified gaze, before running over to the two people.

"No! Get back!" he shouted in reply, waving his hands, "It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got fried alive when they tried to run for help!"

Before either Irileth or Marcus could respond to this, a gut-wrenching roar was heard echoing throughout the valley. Behind the tower, coming over the mountains, was the dark silhouette of a dragon. Marcus tried not to wet himself at seeing the figure from his nightmares again, which is more than can be said of the one surviving guard of the watchtower.

"Divines save us," the guard choked out between sobs, "Here he comes again..."

Irileth shouted down to the men around the area of the watchtower.

"Here he comes! Find cover and make every arrow count."

 _Arrows, of course,_ Marcus thought, _what good is a sword against something that flies? I need to find a bow._

Marcus sprinted up inside the tower, and ran up the stairs to the top along with a few other marksman guards. At the top, he grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows off the floor, and tried to ignore the smoking remains of a human that the bow lay beside. Looking around, Marcus could see the dragon a few hundred metres away, closing fast. He, and the two other men, both drew arrows out of their quivers, and nocked them. Marcus had never been the best archer, but he was competent. The deer around Chorral would testify to the fact. When the dragon reached the watchtower, the three men let loose their arrows. Two of them found their mark, embedding themselves in the lighter coloured skin of the dragon's underbelly. The dragon either didn't notice or didn't care however, and as it flew past the tower it opened its mouth and let loose a blast of fire that scorched the earth in a straight line along one of the semi-collapsed walls and the grass behind it. Marcus saw two men sprinting along the grass, on fire and screaming. Marcus grimly acknowledged them and nocked another arrow, as did the two men near him. The dragon turned around after it finished strafing those two men, and began flying back towards the tower again, this time from the direction of Whiterun. Another volley of arrows from the trio went on their way, and this time only one landed, hitting the dragon in its neck. Further below, the other guardsmen were firing their own bows, and Irileth was even using magic, firing lightning bolts at the beast as it flew overheard, strafing the watchtower with streams of fire. Marcus stopped paying attention to what was happening on the ground, how many people were dying, he was just focusing on firing as many arrows at the beast as he could, as accurately as he could. Despite the fact that the beast wasn't slowing down, or even acting as if it knew it was being peppered by arrows, there was still a decent amount of blood appearing on its wings and underbelly. Clearly, its scales weren't as tough as the dragon in Helgen. The dragon didn't seem to care about how large of a target it presented, meaning the arrows either didn't pose a threat at all, or the beast didn't think humans would actually be able to harm it seriously. Soon, after most likely burning a good proportion of the guardsmen on the ground, the dragon clearly decided it wanted to do something about the three archers at the top of the tower.

It flew up to them, and hovered in the air right above and in front of them. Up until this point, Marcus hadn't really seen the creature up close, and just focused on landing shots on it as it flew around closer to the ground. In this state, he was seeing the dragon more as a target than as an actual threat. Now, with it so close to him, that sort of 'block everything out' level of focus he had had, vanished. The gravity of the situation hit him: He was practical face to face with a massive dragon, and was probably moments from agonizing death. It had a brown torso, with a lightish green tint on the wings. It's head sported three horns, one larger central one and two curved side ones. It's eyes had a harsh glow to them, as though it told of the fire within. It was truly gigantic, easily the size of a large house. It's huge body was kept in the air by the repeating beats of it's giant wings, the displaced air from which sent Marcus' hair blowing about. The two men next to him seemed frozen in place, unable to reach for a new arrow or raise their bow. They just stood there, transfixed with awe and terror at the huge beast in front of them. The dragon opened its mouth, but not to breathe fire. It spoke, in a loud, arrogant voice.

"Bit Grah! I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

 _Fine sport?_ Marcus thought, _Is that what all these good men dying is to you? Sport?!_

Anger filled Marcus' veins, and rational thought got tossed out the metaphorical window. Images of those burning men flashed in his mind, he remembered their guttural screams as they frantically tried to douse the flames consuming their very flesh. Marcus tossed aside his bow, and drew his sword.

"You think we're just sport?!" Marcus shouted at the creature, drawing his arm back. The beast threw its head back slightly, emitting a sound that seemed like laughter, laughter that was cut short when Marcus hurled his sword at the beast. It spun through the air, catching the sunlight and glinting, right before stabbing through the soft tissue in the underside of its neck. The sword stayed stuck in there, right where its jaw connected to the rest of its skull.

 _Taste the strength of men, you piece of shit,_ Marcus thought grimly.

The dragon roared in pain, rearing its head back and preparing to burn the puny mortals who had hurt it. Marcus could see the orange glow build up in the back of its throat, and he knew it was just about to torch the entire tower roof. The stairs back down into the tower were too far away, at least 3 metres, and Marcus only had a fraction of a second to move. Not even bothering to check if the other two men would do the same, Marcus threw himself over the side of the tower. He still got burnt a little with fire, but thanks to Balgruuf's ring, it didn't harm him much. It was a bit of ruthless logic on his part, either die on the roof in fire, or die from the 17 metre fall over the side. At least the latter kept him alive for a second or so more.

But Marcus was lucky, really lucky. The hole in the side of the tower about halfway down had a few pieces of burning rock sticking out of it, meaning Marcus hit them on the way down. This halved his falling velocity, meaning he only smashed his ribcage and broke a leg when he landed, instead of dying. Marcus rolled back and forth, clutching his entire chest, screaming in pain. In the corners of his vision, he saw the dragon land on the ground with a loud crash in front of Irileth, and promptly engulf her entire body in fire.

"No..." croaked Marcus, seeing the brave woman disappear behind the wall of flame.

Marcus rolled over, reaching for his pockets with the one arm that wasn't trapped beneath his own body. All but one of his healing potions had been crushed in the fall, and Marcus knew it wasn't strong enough to fix both his messed up leg and his crushed chest. But this was where Marcus had his second stroke of good luck. The spilt potion had leaked all over his leg, and healing potion absorbed through the skin worked exactly the same as when it was drunk, but it only affected the area where it was absorbed into. Marcus was just lucky enough to have put those potions in the pants pocket of the leg that was currently broken. Marcus downed the last healing potion with his one good arm while the bones in his leg re-knitted themselves. Then his chest began to shift back into shape, clicking and groaning as bones moved and re-healed. It really, really hurt. After screaming in pain for about 20 seconds, Marcus was more or less in a workable state. He still was covered in bruises, cuts, burns, and probably had a fracture or two, but he could stand, and he could fight. After checking that he still had one weapon, his dagger, Marcus ran over to where Irileth was. The dragon had taken off again and was burning soldiers on the other side of the tower, while Marcus was on the side closer to the road. He sprinted over to where Irileth was last seen, hoping her dark elf blood had been enough to protect her from the fire. He saw her lying in the center of a scorched circle of grass, moaning softly. He ran over and knelt by her side, checking her vitals. She was still alive, but her skin was pretty much burnt black, and she was well and truly out of the fight. Marcus grabbed a hold of her collar, and began dragging her to safety. He dragged her over to the base of the first wall, with the wall on her back and a broken piece of stone to her right. It seemed like the best, safest place in the area at that point.

"Stay still," he said sternly to her, not sure if she would be able to understand him in her state, "someone needs to stay alive to recount the events..."

Marcus then stood up, and turned around. The dragon was hovering above the second collapsed wall section, and breathed out a swirling fireball at a group of three men at the top of the wall, firing arrows at it. The large, squashed tornado-shaped fireball exploded at their feet, engulfing them all in fire, and throwing them backwards. They all hit the ground, and didn't get up. Marcus could only see a few other soldiers; the ones that weren't severely injured were dragging those that were to safer locations, out of the open. But it seemed like everyone was either badly hurt, or dead. The dragon flew upwards, circling the tower and surveying the area. It had a fair bit of black blood on its underbelly and wings, and the wound Marcus caused with his sword (which was still in its neck) left a huge trail of black blood flowing down its neck. The dragon must have decided to wrap things up, because it flew around to the back of the tower, circled back, and approached from the direction of Whiterun. It then began hovering in the middle of the area, inside the triangle created by the first and second collapsed walls, and the tower. It stopped beating its wings, and landed on the ground with another loud crash. It looked around at the sorry men who had tried to take it on, many of them unable to do more than crawl weakly away. The dragon looked down at one man in front of its face, who was trying hard to crawl away from the terror in front of him, despite only having one arm left. The beast simply arched its neck, and lunged down at him from above, crunching him in its jaws and shaking its head from side to side, before tossing his chewed up body away.

Marcus was the only one left in any position to fight. He drew his dagger, looking down at it… then he looked up at the dragon. It was taking its time, blasting men with fire here and there. So many bodies, so many good men. How many of these people had families? How many sons and daughters would not be seeing their beloved father walk through the door tonight? Marcus gripped his small dagger in his left hand so hard his knuckles turned white. That beast would only go on to cause more devastation, wherever it went. If Marcus couldn't stop it, he didn't want to be alive to see it all happen.

 _It's time to finish this,_ Marcus thought, gritting his teeth, _and to do that, I need my sword back._

The world seemed to slow down, and Marcus began sprinting at the monster, each foot pounding into the scorched dirt. The dragon turned to face the lone figure charging at it, and opened its maw, blasting a swirling fireball at the figure. But Marcus was ready, and made a huge leap to the side, rolling as he hit the ground so he could retain his momentum, and rose to his feet still sprinting. He was very close to the dragon now, and could see his sword sticking out underneath its head. The dragon tilted its head diagonally, and thrust its jaws at Marcus, who dropped to his knees in a power-slide, gliding along the ground underneath its head. As its neck passed overhead, and just before he was about to emerge on the other side of the dragon, near its left wing, Marcus reached up and grabbed a hold of his sword. Marcus got to a kneeling position, his right hand gripping the handle just above his left shoulder, and wrenched his sword out of the dragon in the same motion as standing up, pushing with his legs and bringing the blade out and moving it over in front of Marcus' chest in a diagonal pattern (left shoulder to right hip). The wound in the dragons neck sprayed blood over Marcus' back now that the plug was removed, and the dragon roared in pain. Marcus quickly turned around to face the beast, just in time to receive a glancing blow from its extended wing to his chest, launching him a few meters away. The intense focus that seemed to slow time disappeared. He landed on the grass with an 'oof' but recovered quickly. It'd take more than that to put him in the ground. The dragon turned to face Marcus straight, and Marcus got to his feet once more, this time gripping both his weapons with white knuckles. He began walking over to the beast. Slowly, each step measured, eyes never leaving the creature.

The dragon opened its mouth to speak once again, as Marcus approached.

"You are brave. Balaan Hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor!"

"This isn't over yet, monster..." Marcus growled through gritted teeth.

Marcus stopped walking when he was about a metre from the head of the dragon. It seemed to be waiting for Marcus to do something, still feeling certain it would win. Counter-intuitively, it was at that specific place, right in front of the huge dragon, that Marcus felt he belonged. It was as if the whole world clicked into place when he made that final step toward the beast, meeting its gaze face-on. He stared into its eyes, and its stared into his. At that point, a flicker or uncertainty crossed the eyes of the beast, for the first time. Why was this human so unfazed?

It was then that Marcus struck, as the sparks of doubt appeared in the monster's eyes. His movements were so fast it was as if his hand was guided by the gods themselves. He swung his dagger and sword in front of his chest in a flattened 'X' pattern, slicing the dragon twice across its snout. It roared, moving its head back a little, then it turned its head 90 degrees to its right and lunged at Marcus, intent on getting its jaws around his chest and crunching him between its teeth. Marcus spun in a full 360 degree circle clockwise, while simultaneously stepping to the left, dodging the beast's attack and giving him enough momentum so that when his spin made him face the dragon again, he was able to move his sword up quickly, from his left hip to above his right shoulder, slicing the beast a large cut just under its eyes. More black blood spilt onto Marcus and his blades. It made another, quicker lunge at Marcus, stepping forward to try and force him back. Marcus swung his sword at the beast at the same time as its mouth opened, and the force of his swing, backed with furious determination, connected with the bottom of the dragon's mouth, slicing through its lips and cutting out a tooth. The beast's lunge was effectively batted away, and it was forced to expose the left side of its face. Marcus took the opportunity to stab at the softer spot under its chin with his dagger, jabbing it in and pulling it out in a lightning fast motion. The dragon now had its head curving out from its body to the right, like a hook shape. It opened its mouth and tried to bite Marcus again, this time from his left flank rather than from his front. Marcus spun to the left, taking a step back and putting his back to the beast to move his body out of the way of its attack, but he wasn't quite fast enough, and the dragon clamped its jaws down on his sword arm, and one of its teeth punctured through his flesh.

Marcus shouted out in pain, but refused to surrender. He spun the dagger in his left hand around, going from a hammer grip to a saber grip, then he buried it into the beast's right eye, his right arm still stuck in its mouth. The dragon let loose a colossal, wailing scream, opening its mouth and allowing Marcus to pull him arm out. He examined it briefly with a glance. It had a small coin-sized hole going clean through the fleshy part of his forearm, not damaging any joints or major muscles, but still covering his arm in his own blood. The dragon's head, previously roaring at the heavens, looked down at Marcus from above with its one remaining eye. The dagger stuck in its other eye. Marcus matched its gaze unwavering.

He whispered in a quiet voice, as much to himself as to the dragon.

"You will not take anything more from these people."

The dragon lunged downward, intent on swallowing the top half of Marcus in its mouth, then biting off the rest. But Marcus moved as if he'd been preparing for the action his entire life. His conscious mind was elsewhere, and something deep within him took over. Marcus brought his bleeding sword arm up over his head, the blade tracing a huge semi-circle over him, and slicing directly through the dragon's mouth, widening its 'smile' and cutting it's tongue in two. The dragon made a deep groaning noise, and it's downward lunge was deflected so its head ended up looking at the ground, about a metre above it. Marcus' eyes blazed with righteous fury, and his instincts took over his body.

He leapt at it, and grabbed onto it's central horn with his left arm. The dragon instinctively reared its head up, but Marcus held on and swung himself under the dragon's chin, then up over the side, onto its head, crouching with one foot on the back of its skull, and one on its neck. The dragon brought its head up to a height of 4 metres off the ground, but Marcus held on.

The surviving guards and Irileth watched with unbelieving awe, as Marcus began to bring his sword down on the dragon's head, over and over. The red blood dripping down Marcus' arm mixed on the blade of his sword with the black blood he was drawing from the beast. He slashed it again and again, right on the side of its head, behind its horns. The beast roared, and shook its head about trying to dislodge Marcus, but to no avail. One final slash made a sickening crunch with the sound of bone breaking, and Marcus knew that now was the time to finish this. He brought the blade of his sword about, and lined it up with center of the hacked mess on the side of the dragons head. With a roar to match that of the dragon, he raised the sword and plunged it down into the dragon, burying the blade to its hilt.

The dragon screamed throatily, "Dovahkiin?! NOOOO!"

It raised its head up so high, it was standing on its back legs with its wings stretched out to their full wingspan on either side of it. Marcus fell off the head of the beast, and landed hard on the ground in front of it. The beast wailed at the sky, tossing its head side to side. Marcus tried to stand up again, and managed to get into a kneeling position in front of the beast, his one good arm acting as a support pillar to the ground to keep him from falling onto his stomach. The beast made one last gasping sound, then collapsed in a heap in front of him.

Marcus had killed the dragon.

Marcus stared at the corpse of the beast, his heart pounded so hard to shook his entire body with each beat. Then the body of the dragon began to do something strange. It began to glow, dimly at first, but gradually getting brighter. Then the flesh on it began to burn, with pieces rising up off of it before disintegrating above the body. Tendrils of bright orange and white energy began swirling around its entire form.

Marcus rose to his feet, half his brain screamed at him to get away from whatever was happening, and the other, stronger half, made him stand his ground. He stared at the burning body in front of him, it's very flesh dissolving into masses of light. Then the masses of light began flowing into Marcus, surrounding him with an aura of blinding light. He arched his head up at the sky, and his eyes glazed over. He felt the fabric of the world laid out before him, and his hands bunched into fists. The knowledge of the dragon he had slain filled his mind, and broke open mental barriers that had been barred his entire life. His blood burned like fire in his veins, and his soul roared in triumph.

Then it was over, and the world returned to Marcus. He collapsed to his knees, panting heavily. Spots appeared at the edges of his vision, gathering and jostling around on the corners of his sight. Then something clicked in his mind, and he stood up straight, out of some unnatural compulsion. Marcus looked toward the sun, and shouted mindlessly. What came out of his mouth wasn't a wordless noise however, it had a clear sound.  
"Fus!"

And a circle of raw blue energy emanated from his throat, flying out into the sky. Marcus stared up at it as it slowly widened and dissipated. He had no idea what he had just done. He felt euphoric, but knew nothing about why. His skin was burning hot, but he wasn't sweating at all. Nothing made sense. Marcus looked over at the remains of the tower. The only thing he did know, was that the people there needed help, they needed healers and medical care. He was the only one who could get to the city, and let them know about the people down here. With a final glance at the watchtower, Marcus ran up toward the city, stopping only to wrench his sword and dagger out of the now empty skull of the dragon.

Whatever had happened, Marcus knew his life was about to get a lot more complicated.

* * *

 **There we go, Marcus has revealed his dragonborn abilities to the world. Who would have suspected it?**

 **This chapter was quite long, but I did want to capture the grittiness of the dragon fight, and I went into a lot of detail to describe the combat movements that happened, because I really wanted to capture what I had envisioned in my mind. It's probably still hard to follow, as I was overdosing on Two Steps from Hell while writing it. Whoops.**

 **I'm a bit unsure about this chapter's combat scenes, mainly because it's hard to tell whether the things I'm writing are actually painting the proper picture in the reader's mind. I'm the one who came up with it, so it's easy to envision myself, but I'm not sure about anyone else. So any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I've added little hints toward Marcus' backstory throughout this chapter, and they'll probably be a few in future chapters as well. It's a tragic backstory that underpins his future actions as a hero without self-preservation instincts. So it's fairly meta. I won't recount the full story until much later though.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

A Doom Driven Hero – Chapter 4: The First of Many.

Marcus was sitting down in the temple of Kynareth in Whiterun, twiddling his thumbs and trying not to freak out. It was hard. It was mainly the sheer lack of knowledge of what had happened, and why it had happened. The memories seemed more like a weird dream than something he actually did. But he knew it had all happened. The proof was literally written onto his body in the form of burns and scars. He'd stood facing a gigantic dragon, battling it toe-to-toe, and actually won. If that wasn't enough, he'd somehow absorbed its flesh, or something. And if THAT wasn't enough, he could use the Thu'um all of a sudden. It really was turning out to be an exceedingly strange day. Marcus' arm was covered in little red marks from when he kept pinching himself, trying to wake up. After the 10th attempt, he'd given up and accepted that it was all real.

He'd walked into Whiterun, alone, from the western watchtower. The streets were filled with anxious citizens, wondering what had happened at the watchtower to warrant the dragon wailing loud enough for them to hear. Marcus didn't actually tell them, other than the fact that the dragon was dead and there was heaps of people that needed immediate medical attention. Several people ran off to the temple of Kynareth, because that's where all the healers were situated. Marcus was also dragged along there as well, because despite the fact he was still standing, the various burns, cuts, and the coin sized hole clean through his arm indicated he could do with a bit of medical attention himself. To be honest Marcus had entirely forgotten about his own injuries, but after being reminded about them, he realized that yes, they do hurt a fair bit, and yes, he would like that to not be the case. So Marcus ended up in the temple, being fussed over by a very Mum-like priestess called Danica. Guardsmen were brought into the temple periodically in varying states of health. Some of them were more 'complete' than others. After a while, Marcus dismissed Danica to go care for the other men, since their injuries were blatantly more serious than his own. He felt a little selfish, in an irrational sense, mainly because he had left that battlefield largely unscathed while 10 of the guardsmen had died, and most of the survivors wouldn't be able to continue their jobs as guards. Marcus went and hid out in the back room, both because he wanted to practice his restoration magic in a quiet place, and because he really didn't like the looks of awe that the injured guardsmen kept giving him. A few even mumbled a word at him, through their blood-smeared teeth.

"Dragonborn..."

That was the part that really scared Marcus, because he knew roughly what a dragonborn was. Most of everyone in Cyrodiil knew, given that their most successful line of emperors were all dragonborn. Dragonborn were individuals with the body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon, with the inherent ability to speak the Thu'um. That was basically all he knew about them, but even that was enough to make him very worried and anxious. He was so worried in fact, that he could hardly concentrate on his magic, and little sparks of golden light kept flying off his fingertips as he tried to heal a nasty graze on his leg. Eventually, Marcus got too tired from the use of his magic, being still very much an amateur in the arcane arts.

 _Perhaps the court wizard could help me in that regard…_ thought Marcus.

In any event, he wasn't really doing anything useful in that temple anymore, so he stood up and walked out of the little room he shut himself into. There was still quite a few guardsmen moaning about on tables and beds, but the priests and priestesses seemed to have things under control. For the most part anyway. Marcus was almost out the door, when Danica blocked his way.

She said, "You can't leave yet Marcus, you're not fully healed."

Marcus shook his head, "I'm fine Danica, you're being pedantic. I'm not going to keel over anytime soon, and there's other people your healing abilities could be used on."

"Hmmm..." Danica looked unconvinced, but stepped aside to allow Marcus to leave. Either she was this protective of everyone, or simply wanted to protect the city's dragonslayer in case another monster showed up.

Once outside, Marcus decided that there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He had to go to Dragonsreach and give his full report of the events at the tower. No doubt the Jarl had heard a lot of different rumors that needed to be corrected. Marcus walked up the stairs to Dragonsreach, but got halfway up before an incredibly loud sound was heard throughout the entire city., and probably in the entirety of Skyrim. It started with a loud crash of thunder, before a word was called out, ringing throughout the mountains and valleys.

"Do...vah...kiin!"

Then another crash of thunder was heard, probably acting as a full stop or something to end the message. People all around the city stopped what they were doing, and stared up at the sky, same as Marcus. He didn't know what the noise was or who made it, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with him. At this point it seemed every strange occurrence in Skyrim somehow concerned Marcus, much to his chagrin.

Marcus continued up to Dragonsreach, he could sort out whatever that strange call was later on. One thing at a time. Marcus pushed open the heavy door to Dragonsreach and walked toward the Jarl, seated on his throne. Irileth was there, which surprised Marcus. She'd healed very quickly it seemed. As he got closer, he could see a few bruises and skin discolourations that gave testament to her vicious burns, but apart from that, she seemed fine. Balgruuf was conversing with some other man, in strange studded fur armor. Their conversation was cut short however, when they saw Marcus. He felt a little intimidated, approaching the group of people staring at him. When Marcus got close, Balgruuf spoke out.

"Good to see you Marcus, I was just discussing the events of the day with my brother here."

Marcus nodded in the direction of the man in studded armor, then waited for the Jarl to continue.

Balgruuf said, "However, we've heard a lot of different rumors about what had happened down there… to the point where we aren't really sure what to believe."

Marcus kicked a bit of dust at his feet and shifted nervously.

He said, "Well… the watchtower was mostly destroyed when we got there, but we did manage to kill the dragon eventually."

The Jarl simply raised an eyebrow. Marcus knew he had to continue.

"After we… I… killed the dragon, I absorbed some kind of power from it. Your men have taken to calling me 'Dragonborn' after they saw it happen..."

Balgruuf nodded, as if Marcus' words had affirmed what he already suspected.

He said, "So it's true… the Greybeards really were summoning you..."

Marcus asked, 'Greybeards? Who on Nirn are they?"

"They are masters of the Thu'um, living in seclusion on the top of the tallest mountain in Skyrim, 'The Throat of the World'."

 _Oh dear,_ thought Marcus, _I'm probably going to have to visit them, aren't I?_

"Because the Dragonborn is uniquely gifted in the Thu'um," Balgruuf continued, "They most likely summoned you in order to teach you about your gift."

The Jarl's brother stepped forward, "Didn't you hear that thundering sound just outside? That was the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar. This hasn't happened since Tiber Septim was summoned when he was still called Talos, hundreds of years ago!"

Marcus was kind of lost for words, unsure as to whether or not to comment on this situation. The Jarl began reminiscing about his pilgrimage to High Hrothgar, with Avenici and Hrongar interjecting occasionally. Irileth stayed quiet, examining Marcus with a strange gaze.

"I've often wondered if the Greybeards even notice what's happening down here…" Balgruuf was saying, "They've never seemed to care before."

Marcus said, "Surely they'd notice a little? I mean, they noticed me absorbing a dragon soul."

The Jarl just scratched his chin, thinking with a wistful look on his face.

"No matter," he said eventually, "Climb the 7000 steps, go to High Hrothgar, and speak with them. You'll learn more from them than you would from hearing us chatter."

"I see..." said Marcus.

 _7000 steps?_ He thought, _how did a bunch of old men climb up 7000 steps in the first place?_

Marcus was drawn out of his thoughts when the Jarl stood up, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Marcus looked at the man, unsure of what was to come next. The concept of a reward had left his mind, and nothing had filled the space he left. Marcus didn't actually know what he wanted anymore. Leaving Skyrim sure as hell was off the table.

Balgruuf said, "You've done a great service to me and my city, Dragonborn, so I will give you something in return. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun, the highest honor I can give. I assign you Lydia, as a personal Housecarl, and will give you a weapon from my personal armory to serve as your badge of office. I also offer you the ability to purchase property in the city, at a discounted price. Speak to Proventus when you are ready."

Marcus was stunned. He didn't expect to be given an actual position of power in the city. Though, Marcus realized he had in fact killed a dragon almost single-handedly, which put him in a position of power regardless, just not politically. There was one thing Marcus needed to know though.

"What's a housecarl?" he asked.

Balgruuf smiled, before answering "I'll let Lydia herself answer that for you. You'd best be off to High Hrothgar as soon as you can."

Marcus nodded, and began walking away back down to one of the benches near the door to Whiterun. With Marcus taken care of officially, the Jarl turned to his steward.

"Back to business Proventus," he said, "We still have a city to defend."

Marcus was unsure what to do. He was really, really unsure. In a day, he'd managed to get roped into fighting a dragon, manage to kill it some kind of righteous fury-induced state, then get handed a position of political power in Whiterun, along with a Housecarl, whatever that was. He didn't know how to handle it. What was he supposed to feel in this situation? Pride? Fear? Confusion? A f*cked up sense of destiny and duty? All of the above? He really didn't know, and decided that he needed to find a place to rest, and sort out his head. The sheer overload of information and emotional turmoil meant he really needed to find somewhere to sleep. He guessed he could stay in the Tavern for a night, but after that he'd probably need to see about getting a house in Whiterun, depending on how much it cost. He breathed out, if his life kept getting as complicated as it was, as fast as it was, then he didn't want to know what he'd look like a week from now.

* * *

Irileth watched Marcus leave, and when she was certain he was out of earshot, she turned to Balgruuf.

She said, "there's one more thing you ought to know about that man, my Jarl."

Balgruuf turned in his throne to face her, curiosity on his face.

"What's that?"

Irileth smiled, "The man is probably the worst person I've ever met when it comes to describing his own actions. He made it sound like grocery shopping, taking down that dragon, but the reality was very different."

The Jarl frowned, "Explain."

"He said 'I killed the dragon,' which I guess he did, but he never said, 'I stood face to face with the beast, dodged it's lightning fast lunges, slashed it across the face multiple times, then proceeded to climb onto its head and drive my sword repeatedly though its skull until it died in a fiery explosion which I then absorbed into my body'. The latter is a more accurate description of the events."

Balgruff blinked, mentally digesting what Irileth had just said. He looked down at Marcus, sitting on a bench near the double doors with his head in his hands.

Balgruuf said, "Holy shit..."

"No kidding." Was the reply from Irileth.

* * *

After about 30 minutes of rubbing his temples and trying to relax, Marcus stood up and moved toward the large doors to Whiterun, and was just about to push them open when a kind, but firm voice called out to him.

"Are you Marcus?"

He turned toward the source of the voice, wondering if someone in the court had decided he should be put to work on another nigh impossible task. This was not the case however, and Marcus was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. It was a woman, as he suspected from the voice. An incredibly beautiful woman at that, and Marcus instantly felt slightly flustered. She had black hair reaching down to her shoulders, clearly well maintained and cleaned. Her eyes were a unique shade of sparkling blue, similar to the ocean on a sunny day. Her face was almost perfectly symmetrical, with high cheekbones, a smallish nose and full lips. She was young, not as young as Marcus but probably only a year or two his senior.

"Uhh… ye… yes, I am Marcus" he stammered.

The woman kneeled in front of him, bowing her head.

"I am Lydia, the Jarl has assigned me to be your housecarl. It is an honor to serve you, my thane."

Marcus looked down at the woman kneeling in front of him, unsure how to proceed.

"Um… thanks?" he began, "What does a housecarl actually do?"

Still kneeling, Lydia spoke in a calm but collected tone. She didn't look up at Marcus, simply bowing her head toward the floor.

"As your housecarl, my thane, I am sworn to your service, guarding both you and everything you own with my life."

Marcus blinked. That sounded an awful lot like a servant, which he didn't particularly like. Marcus had never liked the idea of someone being forced into servitude for another. It carried undertones of slavery.

Marcus walked forward to Lydia, and pulled her to her feet.

"Okay," he said, dusting her off and making sure she looked him in the eyes, "I can already see a heap of things need to change here."

Lydia looked up at him with a concerned and slightly anxious expression, worried that she had already managed to annoy her new thane.

Marcus continued, "first of all, call me 'Marcus', okay? Not 'my thane'. Second of all, no bowing or scraping. Third of all, you are more than welcome to treat me as you would a friend, rather than your superior, as long as you feel I have earned the right to be treated that way."

Lydia blinked. Clearly that was not what she had been expecting.

"But… you're the Dragonborn, and my thane, it is customary to address you in the proper-"

Marcus interjected, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm ordering you to ignore said customs. I don't want a servant."

Lydia looked down at her feet for a moment, considering what Marcus had told her. Then she looked up and nodded.

"Very well, my Th…. Very well, Marcus."

He smiled at her, and gestured with his head toward the door.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

Lydia wasn't sure what to think of her new thane. He was a bit of an unknown quantity, and it was hard to believe that he was the one that had killed the dragon and saved their lives. She looked at him from behind as they walked from the cloud district to the Bannered Mare. When she heard that a young visitor had almost singlehandedly killed a dragon and absorbed its soul, revealing he was Dragonborn, Lydia had pictured a 6-7 feet tall warrior carrying huge weapons and with a stoic, far-away look in his eyes. She imagined a man from one of the storybooks she used to read as a young girl, some classic hero with a chiseled jawline and long flowing hair. In all honesty, she'd gotten quite excited when she'd been told that she was to become housecarl to the Dragonborn, a legendary hero. But now that she had met Marcus, she couldn't help but be disappointed with what he turned out to be. As much as she scolded herself for thinking so, the Dragonborn wasn't as impressive physically as she thought he'd be.

In reality, the Dragonborn was a young man, about average height, with a fairly plain face. He wasn't ugly by any means, but he wasn't making any ladies nearby swoon. His short brown hair was cut neatly, but still gave off an unkempt look. His build wasn't thin, but he wasn't obviously muscular either. The most unusual aspect of his appearance was his eyes, a strange shade of hazel that almost looked orange. A fiery orange, at that.

Of course, Lydia realized, it was what he had on the inside that was important. A hero is more of a character than an aesthetic. That was where Marcus wasn't lacking, it seemed. His reaction to her subservience was an indication he was modest, which was nice. Apart from that however, he seemed a bit unsure of himself, even getting slightly lost on his way to the Bannered Mare. It was almost hard to believe that this was a man effective enough in combat to kill a dragon, as his stance and physique didn't really give off that vibe.

 _Stop judging him,_ Lydia scolded herself, _you will serve him regardless of his actions or character…_

Still, Lydia couldn't help herself. If not what she expected, her new thane was certainly still an intriguing character.

Marcus pushed open the door to the Bannered Mare, and immediately set about reserving a room for the night.

He walked up to the counter and placed down a small purse of coins.

"We'd like accommodation for one night, and breakfast in the morning."

The woman behind the bench nodded, taking the purse then nodding toward a set of stairs behind Marcus.

"Up those stairs, on your right."

Marcus nodded in thanks, then headed up the stairs. Lydia followed close behind. She didn't know why Marcus had paid for her to have a bed as well, since she could have just stayed in Dragonsreach where she slept in her own small quarters. Still, she wasn't complaining, as the tavern beds were more comfortable than her own, and she wasn't one to question her thane. Marcus entered the room before her, but stopped abruptly, making a quiet 'oh' noise. When Lydia arrived beside him, she too saw the problem. There was only one bed in the room. A double bed.

Neither person said anything right away. They just stood there in awkward silence for a few seconds, wondering if the other would talk first. Clearly, the inkeeper had mistaken them for a couple, and gave them a room 'together'. Marcus thought there would actually be two closed off rooms behind that door, as did Lydia. Marcus was blushing like mad, and stammered a little.

"Umm… sorry, I-I didn't intend this…"

Lydia nodded rapidly, "I know Marcus, it, er… seems Hulda misunderstood. What happens now?"

Marcus looked at her with a funny expression on his face. He gestured toward the bed with one hand.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Lydia looked up at him with a briefly confused face. Then the gears in her mind clicked, and she began blushing madly, before quickly averting her gaze to her feet. Was he saying what she was thinking he was saying? Did her expect that from her?

It wasn't unheard of amongst thanes and their housecarls, of course. It was slightly unusual, but not frowned upon. She'd heard the stories about housecarls being physically intimate with their thanes, but that was normally after a long relationship had been established. He'd only just met her less than an hour ago! Was her judgement of his character wrong?

The problem was, she was sworn to his service, in every way. If he demanded of her that she sleep with him, she'd either have to oblige, or take it up with the Jarl. Lydia was a proud nord woman, and wouldn't be pressured into such a personal, intimate act with a stranger, but at the same time, she had her duty to consider. The conflicts whirled around in her head wildly, and she began to wish she hadn't been assigned Marcus as her thane. What kind of man would place someone he had just met in that kind of situation?

Marcus just looked at her with a curious expression, and Lydia didn't know what to do.

Eventually, after Marcus had started feeling awkward at the weird silence that followed his words, he said, "It's simple, I'll just go down and ask the inkeeper for two separate rooms. It was clearly just a misunderstanding that'll take a few seconds to rectify."

Lydia jolted upright, the flushed colour draining from her face as she realized that indeed, what Marcus had just said was more obvious. How stupid she had been... Who on earth would sleep with a housecarl they had met under an hour ago? Why did she automatically assume that was the most obvious solution? How ignorant she had been to assume that of Marcus' character! She began feeling very guilty at how angry she had been at him during those frantic seconds.

Lydia composed herself quickly, Marcus still looking at her with a slightly unsure gaze. She brushed her hair out of her face, and nodded quickly.

"Yes, of course my Th- of course Marcus."

In a short while, Marcus and Lydia were lying down on beds in separate rooms, each one wishing that the previous 10 minutes hadn't been so awkward. Lydia practically kicked herself for acting so unprofessional. Marcus just kept asking himself why his interactions with Skyrim's women were always so strange. He must be doing something wrong.

* * *

Marcus was already having breakfast when Lydia got out of bed. He was sitting at a table, sipping on a cup of water, and eating some bread and cheese. They had a quiet breakfast, not really speaking much. Marcus had a lot to think about. He needed a lot of things. He needed a house in Skyrim, mainly because it seemed like he was going to be spending a lot of time here. It didn't take a genius to realize that the return of the dragons had something to do with him, since he was the only Dragonborn that had been revealed as of yet. But a house costs a lot of money, which Marcus didn't have. Marcus would also need better equipment sooner or later, as leather armor and steel weapons won't get him very far in a battle against a dragon. Marcus would either have to buy said equipment, or craft them himself. Crafting was cheaper, but he needed lessons to be taught how to do it, along with practice. Each of these things required more money. Marcus would also need traveling expenses if he was to begin traipsing all across the province.

He let out a long sigh, and rested his head in his hands. Sensing his troubled state, Lydia placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Marcus?"

Marcus waved a hand dismissively near his head.

"Yeah… yeah… don't worry about it."

Lydia was also a concern. He wasn't entirely sure if he should, or could, ask her to undertake the same tasks that it seemed he'd have to do. Climbing to the top of the 'Throat of the World' was something that he wouldn't do if he had the choice, so he didn't see why he should make Lydia do it.

 _I guess I'll just have to ask her,_ Marcus decided, _but that can wait._

Marcus remembered the dragon, and wondered if it's body was still down at the watchtower. If it was, then he could theoretically take some of its bones and scales, and sell them. Marcus didn't know if they could be used for anything, but given how they were literally one of a kind, they'd still fetch quite the price. He'd better bring up the topic with Lydia first though, as he was unsure if she'd take to the idea of hacking apart a dragon corpse.

"Hey Lydia," he began.

"Mmm?" she mumbled, mouth full of bread.

"I was wondering if you'd accompany me down to the Western Watchtower, for a bit of 'harvesting' of the dragon corpse."

Lydia turned her head to look at him, frowning.

She swallowed her bread and spoke, "Why on Nirn would you want to do that?"

Marcus shrugged, and said, "There hasn't been a dragon killed in Skyrim for several thousand years, it seems. So I think their bones and scales are going to be a pretty valuable item for traders and collectors."

"Hmm… I guess that makes sense. I suppose if anyone has a right to cut apart its body, it's you."

Marcus nodded, and stood up away from the table. He gestured with a thumb toward the door.

"I'll wait for you outside, take your time."

When Marcus and Lydia arrived at the watchtower, they both noticed that the Dragon corpse was still there where Marcus left it. Lydia wasn't expecting it to be as big as it was. The body was roughly the size of a house, and she couldn't imagine how scary it must have been when it still had its skin, and was breathing fire at everyone and everything. Lydia also noticed the very large section on its skull that had been caved in and broken apart. She looked at Marcus, the barest amount of awe in her eyes. He really was more than he looked, if he'd been able to bring down this giant beast. Marcus just looked at the body, then around at the watchtower and its underway repairs. He didn't like being back here. He could hear the crackle of flames, even if his eyes couldn't see any. Lydia looked at the blank facial expression on Marcus face as he looked around at the tower. She was just about to say something when he shook his head to clear his mind, and walked over to the dragon corpse.

"Lydia, this might be a good time to ask you a certain question I've been thinking about."

Lydia replied, "of course, Marcus."

He gazed at the dead dragon's body briefly, before turning and looking her right in the eyes.

"I'm not going to honey-coat it for you, being my housecarl could potentially mean a very sticky end for one or both of us. As a dragonborn, I'm going to have to end up fighting dragons, one way or another. If you're currently my companion, that means you're going to have to fight them too, which is probably the most dangerous undertaking I can think of. While it would be nice to have a friend beside me on some of these undertakings, I… I understand if you don't want to be a part of it. To be honest, if I had the choice, I'd probably want to stay the hell away from the entire business."

Lydia tilted her head fractionally to the side and smiled a beautiful, pitying smile.

"Marcus," she began, "The fight against the dragons is something I have a feeling everyone will have to contribute to. I doubt what we've seen here is going to be the end of it all, so many more fights like this will be occurring, all over Skyrim."

She walked a bit closer to Marcus, and placed both of her hands on his shoulders, looking him right in the eyes.

"I don't think anyone will be safe, no matter where they are, so not being at your side won't mean I'm not in danger. I'm also your housecarl, and I'd be a pretty terrible one if I let you run off into perilous situations without my help."

Her smile changed to a grin.

"Besides, as a dragonborn, you're literally the best person to be around when a dragon needs to be killed, so I think I'll be fine."

Marcus looked at her with an admiring expression on his face.

Shaking his head, he said, "You're a lot braver than me, Lydia."

Marcus looked up at the sun, the supposed portal to Aetherius, and gestured with one arm towards her.

"Why the hell didn't you make HER dragonborn?"

Lydia blushed at the praise, casting her gaze down.

Marcus returned his sight to earth, and upon seeing the dragon behind Lydia, he was reminded why he'd come down here in the first place.

"Come on Lydia," he said in a more cheerful tone, "we've got a lizard corpse to chop up."

* * *

Marcus walked out of Belethor's general goods store in a relatively good mood, which speaks nothing of how Lydia felt. The sleazy owner had been more focused on intruding Lydia's personal space and inquiring about her relationship status than he had been on bartering with Marcus over possession of the only dragon bones obtainable in all of Tamriel. This allowed Marcus to get a price on the bones higher than he was originally anticipating, as it seems Belethor couldn't attempt to chat up a lady and negotiate business at the same time. The guy wouldn't take a hint, it seemed, even going as far to ask Lydia what time her 'housecarl-ing' finished in the evenings. Lydia promptly replied that her duty to her thane was more important than pursuing the fantasies of a deranged shopkeeper. Marcus unsuccessfully stifled a laugh at this, and decided he should wrap things up, and conclude the transaction.

Once the two were outside the building, Marcus jokingly asked Lydia if she could come with him on all his shopping occasions. She just shook her head vigorously, not even bothering to look at him.

"Come on Lydia," Marcus said with mock exasperation, "he was more focused on you than the only dragon bones on the continent! You should be flattered!"

If looks could kill, the one she gave Marcus after that particular statement could have killed a dragon. Marcus chose to stop talking. The two walked up to dragonsreach, where Marcus spoke with Proventus about the available house in Whiterun. Marcus had just enough money to get it, leaving him with a few hundred gold. Marcus doubted that the dragon bones he managed to sell would maintain such a high price for long, as the market would slowly be exposed to more and more of the same product as more of the dragons were killed, so naturally demand would fall. However, for a short while, killing a dragon would actually be an exceedingly profitable business move. Marcus began feeling slightly better at his new occupation as fabled dragon slayer. He didn't have enough money to furnish the house, but Marcus didn't care. It was a place to call his own, and that knowledge provided him with a refreshing feeling of stability in this otherwise uncertain time.

Marcus unlocked the door to his house with a satisfying click. Inside, it was dusty and even had a few cobwebs in the corners. Clearly it hadn't been aired out in a long time, so Marcus decided he'd better clean the entire place up, and make his new abode into more of a place to relax, instead of a place to inhale harmful particles.

"We'd better get started cleaning up," Marcus said to Lydia, "I don't want to wake up at night with a nose full of dust and then wake everyone in Whiterun up with my sneezing."

Lydia looked at Marcus as he began cleaning the place up with a look of borderline incredulity.

"What are you doing Marcus?" she exclaimed, "I'm your housecarl! You shouldn't have to clean up when I'm around..."

Marcus sighed, and look at Lydia with a tired expression.

He said, "Lydia, I've told you before. You're not my slave. I don't want, need, or deserve any kind of servant. Feel free to lend a hand, but you're not going to stop me from cleaning my own house when it needs it, regardless of your sense of duty."

Lydia decided not to pursue the matter further. She didn't know why he'd think he doesn't deserve a servant though, but she didn't enquire. There was a lot about him she didn't know, so it'd be best to just follow along and help him when he allowed her.

"I think tomorrow, we should head out for those greybeards on the mountain," Marcus was saying, "I'd like to learn a little bit more about myself, as it where, from them."

"Of course Marcus," Lydia replied.

"Another thing," Marcus said, raising a finger, "stop sounding so robotic to my every sentence. I'd appreciate it if you voiced your own thoughts a little more instead of constantly agreeing to mine."

Lydia frowned, she didn't know that was a bad thing. "Umm… ok then?"

Marcus smiled at her, a smile that seemed devoid of the stresses that had been placed on the young man in the last few days. Then he looked back down at the desk he was brushing off.

"If she keeps agreeing with all my ideas" he mumbled, thinking she couldn't hear him, "I'll end up thinking I actually know what I'm doing…"

Lydia smiled, but didn't say anything. She got the feeling her life wouldn't be getting boring anytime soon.


	5. Chapter 5

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 5 – The Placement of a Burden

Marcus couldn't feel his toes. He couldn't feel most of his lower body, to be honest. The cold snow that surrounded the bush he had hunkered down in had sapped all warmth from most of his body. He was tempted to use the fire spell Farengar had taught him to warm himself up, but that would only give away his position, and right now, he really needed to remain hidden. His gaze was settled on the woman in black robes about 50 metres away. She was about 40 years old, it seemed, with strange facial tattoos and a permanent cruel sneer plastered on her face. Even from this distance, Marcus could tell she was an evil woman. Did that justify the fact that he was most likely going to have to kill her? Probably not. Marcus had no way of knowing what crimes she had committed before this point in time, meaning he could be staring at a mass murderer and torture enthusiast. He could also be staring at a poor woman who simply got dealt a bad hand in life, resulting in her joining a hagraven cult in order to gain protection from her hardships.

Marcus breathed out a sigh. He'd just have to do what he'd have to do, and hope for the best. He needed what the hagraven was carrying, which meant at that point he'd have to sit and wait. He could worry about giving people a fate they potentially didn't deserve later, if need be. Marcus settled himself down again, and continued watching the woman. If his judgement was correct, he'd have the best opportunity to move a little closer in a few minutes. The hagraven cult had set up a small camp on top of a really big rock, and Marcus wanted to get nearer to better judge the situation. Danica had told him that hagravens were very proficient in ranged destruction magic too, so closing the distance would also help him in terms of combat, should the feces hit the fan.

The witch in front of him yawned, and shifted from foot to foot. She looked up at the sky, judging the position of the stars to tell what time it was. Her face brightened slightly, and she turned around to walk toward the camp. Marcus smiled a shark-like grin. He'd been rewarded for his patience, the woman's turn as night watch had finished, and she was heading back to camp, about to tell the next person due for a watch that it was their turn. Now, Marcus had a brief window where he could get a little closer. With the woman's back to him, he didn't really need to hide his position very much, but he still made efforts to not be seen. Marcus moved quietly and slowly through the bushes and trees a bit behind the tired witch. Once he was about 50 meters away from the main camp, Marcus stopped amongst a cluster of waist-high bushes.

He could see about 4 witches, not including the one previously on night watch, all sleeping on mats around a campfire. The fifth witch moved up to one of the sleeping figures, and shook them awake. A few words that Marcus couldn't hear were exchanged, and second woman stood up, while the first walked over to a spare sleeping bag and flopped down. The second woman walked back down the path to where the first was standing watch. Marcus scanned the area. The 4 sleeping witches were clustered around a campfire, and behind that fire was the large rock on which a tent made from a mesh of tree branches, animal skins, and leaves was situated. In front of that tent was a strange altar, on which laid a spriggan. Marcus recognized it from the description Danica gave him. Embedded in the chest of that spriggan, he saw his goal, the dagger 'Nettlebane'. Marcus smiled, if he was lucky he'd be able to sneak in and grab the dagger without any conflict. He wouldn't have to kill anyone at all, which Marcus hated doing. Killing draugr and creatures was fine, but Marcus didn't like the dimming light in the eyes of a person when he killed them. Marcus thought back to the bandits near Bleak Falls Barrow. How many of them woke with looks of fear and horror in their eyes as they felt his dagger drag across their neck? Marcus shook his head to clear away the negative thoughts.

 _There's no use in thinking about such things,_ he told himself. He'd need all his wits about him to pull this off. Marcus slowly crept out of the bushes, and moved down toward the campfire. The rock with the tent on it was joined to the rest of the land around it by a fallen tree, which Marcus would have to cross. Sticking to the shadows just at the edge of the campfire's light, he got down on all fours and slowly moved over to the fallen tree. One of the witches mumbled something, and Marcus froze. He craned his head behind him, both his hands on the end of the tree, and his feet on the ground. The witch must have just been having a weird dream, because she rolled over and continued sleeping. Marcus breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and continued on his way. Once he was over the tree, Marcus looked warily at the makeshift tent. He couldn't see in it, but he was relatively sure that's where the hagraven was. Marcus crept slowly up to the altar, all the while keeping an eye on the tent flap.

Marcus leaned over the altar and had a good look at the spriggan. It was slightly erie looking, made entirely of wood with strange green magic glowing underneath the wood. It had a face too, which surprised Marcus, as he wouldn't have thought Kynareth would have bothered. Marcus shuddered slightly. The face reminded him too much like something he'd see on a creepy doll. Reaching out, Marcus grabbed a hold of Nettlebane, and wrenched it out of the spriggan. It made a shuddering movement, and let loose a loud wail as soon as the blade left its ribcage. Marcus fell backwards, not expecting such a reaction from something he thought was dead. The spriggan was wailing and writhing all over the altar.

 _Oh Fuck…_ Marcus thought. He glanced over at the sleeping witches. They were staggering to their feet, bleary eyed. He turned his head back toward the tent, and heard a harsh, ragged breathing come from within, followed by a voice.

"Nature's beast is awake?" it said in a grating, guttural tone, "someone has meddled… someone must die!"

The flat to the tent burst open, and out came the hagraven. Marcus almost fell over by how disgusting the thing looked. It was as if someone had taken a really, really old woman with slouching issues, starved her to death, left the corpse to rot for a week, then brought it back to life, and glued feathers to its body. The monster fixed its eyes on Marcus, and grinned a nasty, dirty grin.

"Ah… a meddling soul? Good… I needed another specimen."

Marcus, eyes still wide with horror, drew his sword, with Nettlebane still in his left hand. Behind him, he heard the curses of the witches as they realized what was happening, and began moving across the fallen tree. The hagraven summoned fire into its hand, and raised it at Marcus. A colossal fireball erupted from the curling flames in its hand, and flew towards Marcus. He threw himself onto the ground, and the fireball flew overhead, hitting the fallen tree that two witches were walking across. The force of the spell blew apart the tree in the middle, causing it to split in two and collapse into the small ravine separating the rock and the hill. It took the witches with it, and their screams sounded throughout the area for a few seconds before they were abruptly cut short. Marcus jumped to his feet, and ran at the hagraven. It launched another fireball at him, and he quickly jumped to the side, but the fire brushed past his forearm, and seared the flesh on his unprotected elbow. Grunting in pain, Marcus kept moving, and was upon the hag in seconds. It lashed out with a clawed hand, sinking its long nails into Marcus' shoulder pauldron, but since the leather was layered thick, it didn't touch any skin. Marcus stabbed Nettlebane into the outstretched arm that was now stuck in his right shoulder armor, and the hagraven shrieked loudly. It jumped back, and glared at Marcus with angry, yellow eyes. It pulled Nettlebane out of its arm and tossed it aside.

"So..." it said with a sneer, "it seems this mortal has strength..."

"More than you know, monster." Marcus growled. He inhaled a deep breath, and shouted one word at the creature.

"Fus!"

The familiar circle of blue energy flew toward the creature, catching it completely off guard. It staggered back, and Marcus moved forward. He ducked under a wide, unbalanced swipe of its claws, and rammed his steel sword into its belly. The hag shrieked loudly, swiping again at Marcus, this time with its claws connecting with his lower chest, raking three cuts across his stomach. They weren't deep however, so Marcus didn't even falter. His blood burning in his veins, Marcus pulled his steel dagger out of its sheathe with his left hand, and promptly buried the blade into the scrawny neck of the hagraven. This time its shriek sounded more like a gurgle, as blood spilled from its neck onto Marcus' arm. Marcus didn't slow down, and ripped his sword out of its gut, then rammed it once again into its torso, this time a little higher, where Marcus figured its heart would be if it followed the same basic anatomical structure as a human. With a short ragged gasp, the hagraven fell over, dead. Marcus quickly turned around to see what had happened to the other two witches.

As Marcus expected, Lydia was there, fighting them both with her shield and axe drawn. A large spike of ice was stuck through the wooden part of her steel shield, and the two witches had daggers drawn. One of them tried to make a quick thrust at Lydia's side, but she batted the arm of the witch away with her shield. The other took this opportunity to slash at Lydia's right arm, and scored a deep cut along her unprotected forearm. Lydia shouted out in pain, and swung her axe at the lucky witch, catching her in the neck. This left the second witch with an advantage, as Lydia no longer had her shield entirely facing in the right direction. Marcus had no way of reaching Lydia anytime soon, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and help. Thinking quickly upon the words Farengar had taught him, he channeled a small amount of fire into his right hand. He drew his arm back and hurled a small firebolt at the offending witch's unprotected back. It landed square between the shoulder blades, burning through the black robe and hitting the flesh behind it. The witch cried out briefly, before Lydia used the brief window Marcus had created to cut her down. With the last witch taken care of, all became silence.

Running over to the edge of the rock, Marcus tossed a healing potion at Lydia. She caught it and looked at the bottle, then gave him a thumbs up in understanding. Marcus walked over to the altar where the spriggan was still trying to escape from its bonds. It had its arms and legs tied to each corner of the altar. As Marcus approached, it stopped wriggling and looked up at him. He couldn't read its face, simply because the expression, being literally carved into wood, never changed. He felt as if he should release it, but he wasn't sure what it would do. Marcus shrugged, and leaned over to untie its restraints. As soon as it was free, the spriggan jumped up and scooted a little away from Marcus. It started at him for a long time, cocking its head to the side. Marcus felt perturbed under its gaze, as if it was sizing him up. It then turned and sprinted across the rock. It took a running leap and cleared the 5 metre gap between the rock and the hill, then took off into the woods. Marcus watched it go, feeling slightly relieved.

"Freaky..." he muttered. Marcus then walked over to where Nettlebane had fallen, and picked it up. He slipped it into his sword belt, and looked for a way to get off the tall rock.

After Marcus had carefully climbed down the rock, he made his way back up to where Lydia was sitting. As he approached, Lydia looked up from bandaging her arm.

She said, "Maybe next time you make a plan that involves me as the backup, you can thin out the enemies a little more, eh?"

Marcus frowned, "I gave you a healing potion, why are you bandaging yourself?"

Lydia waved a dismissive hand, before standing up. "I only had a small cut on my arm, it's fine Marcus, not anything I'd want to waste a healing potion on."

"Oh yeah? What about that burn on your leg?"

Lydia stopped moving, and absentmindedly rubbed the burn on her left leg. "The witch on guard down below surprised me with a fire spell, it's nothing."

But Marcus was adamant, "Your injuries aren't 'nothing' Lydia, I won't have you in pain when there's a simple alternative. Drink the potion."

Lydia began looking slightly exasperated, "I'm fine! I've suffered worse in training, and you'll probably need them later on."

"I will literally pin you down and force you to drink the potion Lydia," Marcus said, folding his arms across his chest, "don't think you're getting out of this."

It was somewhat heartwarming to Lydia to know that Marcus cared about her health so much, despite the fact that he was also hurt. A small sly grin touched Lydia's face briefly. A small part of her wanted to see if he'd actually go that far, to physically pin her down… dominating her... Lydia blinked, and returned her thoughts to the real world. Marcus was still looking at her with a frowning face, arms crossed over his chest. His unyielding attitude hided his frustration at himself. He could have cut the throats of those witches while they slept easy as anything, but he didn't. Marcus had tried to be a nice guy, and spare their lives, thinking he wouldn't have to kill them. As a result, one of the few friends he had in the world had gotten hurt because of it. Lydia could have died, if Marcus hadn't thrown that firebolt. It seemed like he had a lot to learn about the place of mercy in his life. Marcus wanted Lydia healed so badly simply because he felt personally responsible for her pain, as if he had been the one to cut her forearm. Lydia looked up at Marcus' seemingly annoyed stance, not noticing the worry behind his eyes. She smiled at him, then opened the potion and downed the contents in a single gulp. She felt the wound on her hand close up, and the burn on her leg fade. Lydia handed the bottle back to Marcus, who put it in one of his pockets.

She said, "Did you get that weird knife?"

Marcus pulled out Nettlebane, and twirled it in his hands. "Yeah, I got it. I guess we'll need to head to the Eldergleam place Danica mentioned soon."

Lydia shook her head, "you're going to go to the greybeards first, you've already dallied around enough. They summoned you almost 4 days ago, and it won't do any good to annoy them before they've taught you how to control your talent."

Marcus' shoulder slumped slightly, and he sighed, "you're right, of course." He chewed his lip and stared up at the mountain behind them. "It's just… I have more questions than anything else, and I have a feeling I won't like the answers they give me."

Lydia frowned, and tilted her head to the side, "what do you mean?"

Marcus didn't answer straight away, still staring up at the black silhouette of the mountain. "I get the feeling I'm only getting started in terms of my 'adventures' in this land. If this feeling holds true, then those greybeards are only probably going to be the ones that point me in the direction of whatever path the divines have laid out."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

Marcus turned and looked her. With a shrug, he walked past and began moving down the hill to the main road.

"Right now, it's not such a bad thing, of course" he called out over his shoulder, "but I think after a while, it might be."

Marcus added one last couple words, that Lydia couldn't hear. "If not for me," he whispered, "for many others."

* * *

Marcus liked the look of Ivarstead. Nestled in at the base of the mountain, with a river running through, it reminded him a lot of Riverwood. The only major difference was the colour of the surrounding flora being more orange and brown than green. Marcus and Lydia walked into the village, and looked around. People didn't pay them too much attention, so it was clear that pilgrimages to High Hrothgar were common, and thus so were travelers.

"Come on Lydia," Marcus said, "Let's head to the inn."

"Why?" Lydia frowned, "it's only late morning, we'll have most of the day to climb the mountain?"

Marcus shook his head, "I will, you won't. I'm heading up alone."

Lydia looked incredulous upon hearing these words. "What?! So you can die halfway up and leave me a disgrace? No, I'm going with you, and that's final!"

Marcus sighed, and gestured up to the mountain with his hand, "They called out to me, Lydia, they summoned me and me only. If you come up as well, you'll probably be waiting at the doors for however long it takes for me to figure out how dragonborn-ing works."

"It's still my duty to be at your side," Lydia said defensively, not wanting to see Marcus make such a long journey without her.

"Your dedication to duty is admirable, Lydia," Marcus said with a small smile, "but in this instance it's misplaced. You'll probably just end up getting hypothermia and dying."

Lydia stammered defensively, "But… w-what if there's dangerous things on the trail?"

Marcus chuckled, "I can handle the occasional wolf, Lydia, have a little faith."

Realizing there was no way she was going to convince him otherwise, and that Marcus actually had a valid point, Lydia decided to accept her fate. She'd have to sit this one out. Marcus got her a room for two days, then headed out into the town again, alone. He made his way past the farmhouses, where a girl was arguing with her parents. He went past the mill, where an angry woman was shaking her fist at the sky cursing about… bears? He walked over the bridge, where an older man was talking about how his legs hurt so much he couldn't make a delivery. Marcus shook his head slowly. People in Skyrim had a lot of problems, it seemed. Part of Marcus wanted to ask them about these problems, to see if he could help. The other part of him wanted to focus on the task at hand, and ignore the people. Marcus decided he'd compromise and only help one person. He'd ask the closest troubled person, the older man, and help him.

It turns out the man just needed Marcus to make a delivery to High Hrothgar, and since he was going there anyway, Marcus readily agreed. Marcus made his way over the bridge, and stood at the beginning of the steps. When he craned his neck upward, Marcus could see the path snaking all over this side of the mountain, before moving over onto the other side about halfway up. He took a deep breath.

 _This is going to take a while,_ he thought, placing his foot on the first step. The first of 7000.

* * *

Marcus gasped. He collapsed against one of those strange emblems that dotted the path up the mountain. He drew in several shaking breaths. Every time he thought he'd reached the top of the path, there was another bloody thousand or so steps laid out above him.

"Fuck. This. Mountain." He panted. Clutching his side where multiple stitches plagued him, he closed his eyes. He was starting to wish he'd brought Lydia with him. He could have ordered her to carry him up those last few hundred steps. That would've been nice. Marcus rubbed his face, feeling a little shaky, either from the altitude or the fact he'd just climbed most of a mountain in half a day. It was early evening, from what Marcus could tell, with the sun just starting to touch the horizon. Marcus staggered to his feet. He didn't want to be out in the elements when night fell. The temperature would drop well below freezing, and Marcus didn't have any wooly socks.

So, doing his best to shrug off his exhaustion, he continued along the path, climbing set after set of stairs.

 _Those greybeards better teach me some pretty fucking important things,_ Marcus thought bitterly.

Marcus just kept walking, taking short breaks here and there, determined to reach High Hrothgar before night. Occasionally he'd come across these emblems on the path, and he'd read them. Marcus thought they were interesting enough, telling the stories of past individuals who had competence in the voice, or Thu'um. Some were dragonborn, while others were simply dedicated individuals, but they all lived lives of incredible deed with the voice as their tool and weapon. The emblems described heroic battles and intense duels containing these individuals. Marcus felt worried at this. Statistically speaking, he'd have to be an anomaly if he didn't follow the same trend as these other people, that is, a life of intense conflict and action. He wasn't sure if he wanted that. It'd be nice to become an individual of incredible power, for sure, but Marcus was doubtful if he deserved it, or could be trusted with it. Were the Gods giving him a chance at redemption? A chance to show his worth? What would such a thing entail? It most likely involved the dragons, but Marcus wasn't sure if there'd be any actual set of guidelines for him to follow. Was he supposed to just find and kill every dragon he could? Marcus didn't like the sound of that either.

The questions milled about in Marcus' head, distracting him from the path and where he was going. At one point, where Marcus was wondering what made a dragonborn so good at Thu'um, he passed underneath a large rocky outcrop leaning over the path. As he passed under the rocks, he heard a slight shuffle of rocks. A clatter of pebbles fell off the outcrop onto the snow below, just as Marcus was coming out to the other side of the rock.

If anyone bothered to ask Marcus why he did at that point, he wouldn't be able to give them an answer. Call it a sixth sense, or a guardian angel whispering in his ear, or moment of temporary insanity, but his action undeniably saved his life.

Without thinking, Marcus leapt to the side, flying through the air and rolling along the snow. Right where he had been standing, a gigantic creature landed with a roar. Marcus rose to his feet quickly, drawing his sword and dagger, and fixed his eyes on the creature that had so nearly landed on him. It was a huge, lumbering troll, with snow white fur and a permanently angry look on its face. It had three big black eyes on its head, and gristle from some unlucky animal hanging between its teeth. It raised its arms above its head in a challenge, and emitted a savage roar.

Marcus quickly evaluated the situation, and decided he was pretty fucked. If he'd had a little preparation, he could have thrown a firebolt or two at the beast before it got close, and maybe he could have pushed it off a cliff or something. As of right now however, Marcus was about 2 meters from the creature, so any long range attacks were a no-go. The troll had advantage in close quarters, with its powerful arms, thick hide, and if Marcus' childhood textbooks were correct, regenerative abilities.

Marcus really wished he'd brought Lydia.

The troll lurched forward and swung a wide blow at Marcus. He ducked low, the huge arm flew over his head, then Marcus darted up and slashed the beast across the face with his sword, causing a deep cut across its cheek. It snarled at the human, then swung the other arm at him. Marcus jumped back, the troll's swing missing again. He lunged forward and stabbed the first 15 centimetres of his sword into the chest of the monster. Marcus then pulled his sword out of the chest of the troll before it could swing at him again, and retreated a few steps backward. The large wound in its chest didn't seem to affect it too much, and it lumbered forward again. Marcus groaned inwardly. It seems this troll not only had thick fur covering its vital organs, but also had a large amount of muscle, fat, and bone layered under its skin. Taking this thing down would require either a lot of fire, which Marcus didn't have, or a really big weapon, which he also didn't have. The troll swung its large, clawed left arm at Marcus again, who promptly ducked under it. But Marcus had underestimated the cunning of the beast, as it swung its right arm a second after its left, on a lower trajectory. The right arm connected with the left side of Marcus' face, and cut deep into the soft flesh there.

Marcus reeled away and fell onto the snow on his hands and knees, clutching his face. The sharp claws on the troll's fingers had done damage, and nearly taken out Marcus' left eye. As it was, he could hardly see out of it with all the blood. Marcus crawled a few metres away from the troll quickly, as it began walking toward him. As he got up, Marcus was facing away from the creature, but he could hear it approaching. Using his hearing, Marcus judged the right time to act.

When the troll was close enough, Marcus spun quickly in an 180 degree turn, using the added momentum of the spin to bring his sword around with more force. The blade bit into the right shoulder of the troll, and stuck fast. The blade was buried deep into the troll's shoulder, at least 3 inches, but due to the tough lifestyle of the troll species, a great deal of bone had formed on its shoulders, so the sword didn't do much apart from make it harder for the troll to move that arm about. The troll swung its left arm at Marcus, and because he still was gripping the sword, he wasn't able to get out of the way fast enough. The half-closed hand of the troll smacked into Marcus' ribs, driving the breath out of him and cracking the bones. It was such a hard punch, that one of his ribs actually pierced through Marcus' chest, the little nub of white bone poking out by about a half a thumb's length. Marcus was launched away, and his momentum rolled him a few metres after he hit the ground, ending up close to the edge of the mountain path, his blood painting the snow red. He couldn't breathe, and desperately fumbled with the pouches on his armour for a healing potion. The troll, sensing its prey was in a bad way, took its time walking over to Marcus. It even paused to rip his sword out of its shoulder. Marcus pulled out the stopper to the potion, and gulped it down quickly. His ribs clicked back into roughly their original position; still bruised and somewhat fractured, but underneath his skin nonetheless. Marcus stood up slowly, unsteady on his feet for a few seconds. His sword lay about 5 metres away in the snow. All he had was his knife, gripped in his left hand. Marcus tried to ignore the pain he felt in his chest, and thought of a risky plan. He drew his arm back, and threw his knife at the head of the troll, hoping his luck would hold and he'd hit it in the mouth or eyes. The knife hit the troll's head, but with the wrong end. The handle struck the troll's third eye, causing it to groan slightly in pain, and blink a little. Apart from that, it didn't falter. Marcus now didn't have any weapons, his dagger lay about a foot behind the troll, and his sword was about 5 metres beyond that. The troll make a barking noise, as it was taunting its prey, or laughing. Marcus gritted his teeth, and stood to his full height, ignoring the pain spasms that rippled across his chest and face. Thinking quickly, he decided upon a plan of action. It'd probably get him killed, but at this point, what course of action wouldn't? As the troll took the first of its lumbering steps toward Marcus, he pushed off on his feet, and dived between the its legs. Reaching out in front of him, he grabbed a hold of his dagger, then got to his knees, before plunging the dagger into the back of the troll's left leg, behind the kneecap. The troll roared in pain, and was forced to kneel down on one side as the tendon in its left leg was severed. Now that the troll was bent slightly over, and not reared to its full height, Marcus could turn the tables.

"Let's see how much bone you've got behind your eyes," Marcus growled as he pushed off the ground. He launched himself onto the back of the troll, grappling his arm around its neck with his left arm, and repeatedly plunging his dagger into its face with his right arm. He buried it into all three of its eyes in rapid succession, over and over. The troll screamed, reaching behind its head with its arms and smacking Marcus in his ribs and shoulders, but because of the awkward angle none of these hits were significant enough to throw him off. Ignoring the painful swings the troll was making to him, Marcus continued his stabs until the upper face of the troll was a bloody, pulped mess. After stabbing its central eye one last time, the troll let loose a low groan. It stopped fighting, and collapsed onto the ground, face-first, dead.

Marcus rolled off its back, falling onto the snow with heavy breaths. His chest burned with pain, and each breath he took felt like a hammer was smashing into his ribs. Most of them were once again broken. He tried to get to his feet, but fell down, his body unable to support its own weight. He tried again, and failed. Marcus began to worry. Was he crippled? Could he actually stand?

Marcus summoned restoration magic into his hands, and concentrated. The golden light spread across his body, weaving in and out of his torso. He stopped when he began to feel the familiar headache of depleted magicka in the front of his brain. Marcus tried once more to stand, and managed to get shakily to his feet. The healing magic had helped him, in a purely structural sense, but he didn't know how much. Most of his chest bones could be all over the place, and he wouldn't be able to tell. All he did know, was that night was almost upon him, and he needed to move. Pausing to grab his sword, Marcus tried not to pass out from the constant dizzying waves of pain pulsing through his body. He was distantly aware that his face was also still bleeding, with blood streaked down most of the left side.

As he clutched his chest, trying not to sob with pain, Marcus shuffled slowly up the path. His footsteps in the snow were accompanied by spatters of blood, as he slowly made his way to High Hrothgar.

He didn't know if he'd make it.

* * *

Marcus awoke in a bed, covered by furs. He tried to sit up, but decided not to after most of his chest ignited with pain. He tried to turn his head, to look around, but his neck was very stiff, and could hardly move. His mouth was full of the metallic taste of blood. He couldn't feel below his waist, and his hand cramped every time he tried to move his fingers.

 _Fuck me..._ Marcus thought. He'd better just stop trying to move any part of his body, at all.

The last thing he could remember was the billowing white of snow flying across his vision, and a big dark building in the distance. From what he could see at the moment, Marcus was in a large stone structure. There were several other beds near his own, organized in a very wide, curved hallway, with one end of the hallway leading around a corner, and the other end was blocked by a wall.

"Hello?" Marcus croaked, trying to make his voice as loud as possible, and failing miserably. He sounded like a frog in desperate need of a lozenge. From around the corner, an old man wearing ornate grey robes walked into view.

As he approached, he nodded at Marcus. "Good, you're awake."

"What happened?" Marcus croaked in his sick froggy voice.

The old man pulled up a chair beside Marcus' bed, and spoke to him in a deep, commanding voice.

"You stumbled into this building two nights ago, covered in your own blood, and basically collapsed in front of us during our evening meditation. We didn't expect to see you awake for another few days at least. You're quite the hardy individual, not to mention a very fast healer."

Marcus paused for a moment, the gears in his addled brain slowly working.

He said, "Wait… so I'm in High Hrothgar?"

The man nodded.

Marcus asked, "So you're one of the greybeards?"

The man nodded again.

"I am master Arngeir, I speak for the greybeards."

Marcus stared at him for a while, unsure what to say. Arngeir just looked at him, waiting.

"I… I heard your summons, I'm here to answer them."

Arngeir nodded, "We thought you might have been the dragonborn, but you'll have to prove it in a more real sense. When you are healed, you will begin such tests and training."

Marcus nodded, but there was one question he still wanted answered.

"Last I remember, I was pretty much crippled. To be honest, I was basically dead. How did you manage to heal me so quickly?"

Arngeir gave a small half-smile. He reached down and pulled something out from underneath Marcus' bed, then held it up for him to see. It was a healing potion, from what Marcus could tell, but it was much, much larger than the kind Marcus normally carried. It was about the size of a gourd, opposed to the more hand-sized ones Marcus was used to.

"It took two of these to get you stabilized," Arngeir said, "we're fairly used to ill-fortuned pilgrims showing up on our door with grievous injuries."

Marcus didn't know what to say, except a quiet, "thank you."

Arngier stood up, and began walking out of the room. He stopped after a few steps, and turned back to Marcus.

"You'll probably be up and about in a day or so, we'll talk more then."

Arngeir turned again and walked out of Marcus' sight. Marcus wasn't quite sure what to think of his first encounter with a greybeard. He seemed nice, in a sort of stoic way. Marcus hoped he hadn't somehow jeopardized his relationship with them by stumbling into their meditation session covered in blood and in immediate need of medical help. Hopefully not. Marcus wondered just how informative these people would end up being. If nothing else, he wanted a purpose, a set of goals that could set him on a path that he could be, if not happy with, proud of.

Marcus laid back, resting his head on the straw pillow, and closed his eyes. The future version of him could worry about and deal with such things. Right now, he should rest. Marcus drifted off to sleep, and dreamt about mountains seen from the sky.

Marcus stood before Arngeir, slightly nervous, in the central chamber of High Hrothgar. The other greybeards were gathered around, watching him with curious eyes. He'd been told to shout at Arngeir, to use his 'force' shout on him, to which Marcus complied after affirmation he wouldn't end up hurting the old man. Now, as they were all gathered around him, Marcus wasn't sure what to expect, and thus was slightly worried about how things were going to turn out. He was wearing his leather armor, but it was pretty battered. Large sections were missing, and Marcus' simple clothes were visible underneath. He also sported a new scar right above his left eye. It started on his upper cheekbone, crossed the edge of his eye, and stopped just above his left eyebrow.

Arngeir spoke out, his old voice loud in the quiet stone halls.

"You have shown you have the inborn ability to shout, young Dragonborn, but do you have the discipline and willingness to learn? That remains to be seen."

Marcus didn't say anything, simply nodding.

Arngeir said, "approach Master Einarth, he will teach you the second word, of your 'unrelenting force' shout."

Marcus complied, walking up to Einarth. The old man nodded toward Marcus, then made a sweeping hand gesture over the floor. A ripple emanated from his fingertips, and a series of symbols were carved into the stone floor. Marcus looked down at them, feeling the same allure he felt in Bleak Falls Barrow. He crouched down, his vision blurring at the edges until the glowing symbols in the stone were all he could see. Marcus reached down and touched the symbols with his hand, and his vision went white. Marcus closed his eyes, and saw the symbols in his mind's eye. After a few seconds, the feeling faded and Marcus opened his eyes again.

Arngeir said, "As part of your training, Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of this shout..."

Marcus stood up, and looked at Einarth. The old man had started to glow, and bits of energy flowed out of him, into Marcus. The feeling was strange, to say the least, as if the man was speaking directly into Marcus' mind and deliberately breaking open mental pathways and unlocking knowledge. When it was over, Marcus knew exactly what the second word meant, and how to use it.

"Balance..." Marcus said, looking at Arngeir.

The greybeard nodded, the gestured for Marcus to stand aside from the center of the chamber.

"You learn a new word quickly, Dragonborn, but there is still much to do."

For the next half-day, Marcus shouted 'unrelenting force' at targets, learned meditation exercises, and was even taught the words for an entirely new shout, called 'Whirlwind Sprint'. Marcus loved his new shout, though he could tell the greybeard disapproved of his childlike excitement at learning its powers. He couldn't stop thinking of how many times the shout would have been useful in his childhood. He would have impressed all the girls in Chorral during his early teens with this ability to do a 100 metre sprint in half a second. Marcus couldn't see any actual application for the shout in combat though, but he didn't care too much. After demonstrating his use of the shout for the third time, Arngeir called for Marcus to stop practicing. Secretly, Marcus was proud of how things had gone. He'd used each Thu'um perfectly, without fail. The words felt so natural to use, and he'd never failed to utilize their powers. Marcus couldn't wait until he learned more words.

Marcus walked over to Arngeir, who looked slightly shaken, for the first time all day.

"You're quick mastery of the Thu'um is… startling," Arngeir said slowly, "I've heard stories about the abilities of the dragonborn, but to see them first hand… it's amazing."

Marcus shuffled his feet, unsure how to handle such direct praise. "I… I don't really know how I do it so easily, it just happens."

Arngeir nodded, "What has taken you mere minutes takes even the most focused of us decades to achieve… You were given this gift by the Gods for a reason, Dragonborn, it is up to you to decide how best to use it."

"About that," Marcus said, holding up a hand to interrupt, "What is actually expected of me? What am I supposed to do, as a Dragonborn?"

"There is no doubt your existence is tied in with the return of the dragons," Arngeir said, "but I have no doubt your destiny will extend beyond just that..."

Marcus tilted his head to the side, confusion evident on his face, "I don't understand… what am I supposed to do about the dragons?"

Arngeir shook his head, "I do not rightly know, Dragonborn, you should focus on honing your voice, then your path will become clear."

"Well, what's next then?"

Arngeir placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder. "You are ready for your last trial. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, founder of the greybeards, in his tomb of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."

"Right..." Marcus looked unconvinced. He hadn't really received the clear-cut answer he'd been hoping for. "What does it mean to be a dragonborn?"

Arngeir stroked his chin thoughtfully, picking his words out carefully.

"From a purely functional point of view, a dragonborn has the ability to speak in the language of dragons, projecting their voice into a Thu'um, or shout. They are also able to absorb the souls of slain dragons, gaining a segment of the dragon's knowledge. As for their purpose, well… very few mortals have ever been born with the same ability… whether it's a gift or curse has been a matter for debate throughout the centuries. Some people believe that a dragonborn is sent into the world by the Gods during times of great need, to act as saviours. We… will speak more of that later, when you a ready."

Marcus began feeling frustrated. He'd climbed up the tallest mountain in Tamriel and nearly died from the wildlife in order to get some answers. He did not want to leave with nothing but more questions.

"Surely," he said, "there's more that you can tell me. Am I some tool of the divines? To what extent am I supposed to act as a saviour?"

Arngeir shook his head, and spoke with a firm voice. "There is much that we know, that you do not, Dragonborn. But that does not mean you are ready to hear it. There is such a thing as knowing too much about one's place in the world. Do not think your quick mastery of the voice entitles you to all our secrets, for the arrogance of power has been the downfall of many other Dragonborn in history. We have told you what you need for the future ahead. That is all."

Marcus closed his eyes, and sighed. When he opened them again, his frustration had lessened. "Very well, I'll do as you say."

Arngeir nodded, "Your fate is cloudy, Marcus, but I do not doubt your potential."

Marcus didn't respond, he just walked past the old man toward out of the courtyard. He didn't know what else to do. He hadn't received his answers, not really. Marcus doubted he'd ever truly get them either.

Marcus let out a long breath of air as he left through the front door of High Hrothgar, the cold wind chilled him to the bone. Below him was a large expanse of clouds, blocking the rest of Skyrim from view, making it seem like the mountain was the only thing on earth. Marcus could see why High Hrothgar was so disconnected from everything. A part of him wanted to stay up here, away from all the hassles and pressures of unknown origin. A part of him also wanted to head back down, and try his hardest to live up to whatever fate the Gods had in store for him. Another part just wanted to see Lydia again.

Marcus sighed, and began making his way back down the mountain.

* * *

 **Author's Notes – This'll probably be the last chapter before I skip ahead a fair way in terms of character level and completed quests. I don't want to cover every single quest Marcus will end up doing, simply because it'd take too long and I have plenty of my own adventure ideas ahead to cover that basically involve damsels in distress and Marcus being a badass. I'll try to cover important things like daedric quests and main story missions, and I'll make sure each major faction (Companions, College, etc) all have at least 3 chapter dedicated to their story. Each faction will also have a character that will have a bit of romance surround them. Let me know which faction you guys want me to do first, if you have a preference. If no-one says anything, I'll probably do the College of Winterhold first. None of this is set in stone though. I'm not quite sure how to handle some of Skyrim's game mechanics like absurd (but necessary) carry weight, money weighing nothing, and mana/health regen. I guess I'll just ignore it and do whatever's easiest. That's the Australian way :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's notes – I feel like I should outline some aesthetic** **descriptions, because I have a very specific idea of what I want Marcus to look like. In this chapter, his armor is basically the same as the 'nordic adventurer' armor mod, except without the helmet, war horn, and dual axes on the belt. I figured it'd make sense if his armor is basically a mix-mash of salvaged and crafted pieces of metal, since he'll be finding so many varying sets of gear** **in his adventures** **, and I** **don't want to have to explain how he comes across better sets of gear every third chapter or so.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 6 – A Man of the People.

Marcus surveyed the bandit camp with a curious eye. They were either really stupid, or really confident that they'd never be attacked. There was only two people on guard, and one of them was basically asleep. He could see a few other bandits milling around a campfire, and there was probably one or two inside the shack in the middle of the camp. None of them looked like a chief or leader though, which means that Marcus' target was inside the mine.

The bounty was for the bandit chief of Halted Streams Camp, not the inexperienced idiots that were doing a poor job of protecting themselves. That meant Marcus would probably need to kill all of them, just to get to the actual important one.

 _Well, no time like the present,_ thought Marcus with a grim smile.

He unslung his elven bow, nocked a steel arrow, and aimed at the half-asleep bandit sitting in a chair on a small elevated platform. Marcus was only about 50 metres away, so it was unlikely he'd miss. He stood up out of the shadows and fired in one motion, and the arrow flew towards its target. Marcus had aimed at the man's head, and at this range, the projectile drop was minimal. The arrow planted itself in his neck, and the man gurgled quietly before dropping to the ground. Marcus crouched back down, waiting to see if anyone else had noticed. A few shouts of alarm went throughout the camp, and Marcus grimaced. It looked like he wouldn't be getting anymore sneak attacks this night. From the small hill Marcus was on, he could see a few bandits running around inside the camp like headless chickens, unsure of what or where the threat was.

A small part of Marcus was glad that the bandits were so inexperienced and unsure of what to do, because it meant killing them would be that much easier. Another part of him was sad because their inexperience meant they mightn't have been bandits long enough to be deserving of death. Still, Marcus knew that now wasn't the time for second-guessing. They'd kill him if they had the choice and they'd probably do the same to anyone actually innocent. Marcus stood up, and walked out of the shadows underneath a tree, drawing his skyforge steel sword and his steel dagger. They each glinted in the moonlight. As he approached the camp, a few bandits noticed the lone figure and yelled out to their comrades. The gates to the camp opened up and 5 bandits ran out. Marcus almost shook his head. Up until this point, he had no way of accessing the camp, short of climbing over the fence, but now the bandits had solved that problem for him. They charged up at him one at a time; yet another amateur mistake. The first bandit ran up to him with a war axe, swinging a diagonal overhead blow from Marcus' left. Marcus simply side-stepped and ducked, before plunging his sword into the bandit's chest. Marcus kept moving, pulling his sword out of the mortally wounded man as he walked past. The second bandit lunged at him with a sword, which Marcus parried away with the dagger in his left hand, and, because his sword arm was still behind him, in the act of being pulled out of the first bandit's body, Marcus used a new Thu'um he learnt.

"Yol!"

A ring of fire erupted from Marcus, and slammed into the exposed torso of the second bandit, passing through him and hitting the third bandit right behind. They screamed and fell down onto the grass, their corpses burning briefly. Magical fire seemed to act different to normal fire, as if the very act of the fire hitting it's targets was where the real damage came from. Probably due to the actual energy of the fire being transmitted into the target, or something. The fourth bandit swung a charging overhead blow at Marcus with a greatsword that probably would have cut him in half, had Marcus actually remained still. He dodged to the right in a twirl, ending up standing right beside his attacker, with the bandit's momentum carrying him forward. Marcus's arm shot up and buried his dagger into the back of the fourth bandit's neck. The last remaining bandit was standing a little further away, holding a bow with an arrow already nocked. Marcus would've worried about how he was going to dodge the arrow, if the bandit hadn't been shaking so hard. Seriously, the kid was practically vibrating. He was shaking was so bad he wouldn't have been able to hit the ground if it wasn't for gravity. Marcus walked up to the man, his new armor sprayed with blood.

The bandit threw his bow on the ground and held his hands up.

"I yield!" he cried.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. This was new.

No-one had actually properly surrendered to him like this before. Granted, he hadn't exactly fought a heap of bandits in the past 2 weeks, but he'd still battled about 40, most of them with Farkas in that creepy cairn. None of them acted like this. This bandit must have been really new, or basically a whelp to fighting.

The bandit got down onto his knees, and clasped his hands in a begging manner.

"I beg of you, mighty sir, please spare my life..."

"Woah..." Marcus said quietly. Did he actually seem that intimidating? His new armor was certainly more striking than his old leather gear, but it wasn't that scary surely? It was a combination of steel plates, nordic armor, chainmail, and leather, nothing that really screamed 'danger'. Maybe it was the Thu'um? Then again, no other bandits had reacted in the same way to his shouts…

Marcus walked over to the young man. He couldn't find it in him to strike him down. The bandit was probably only about a year younger than Marcus, but he still seemed like a child. He sighed, and sheathed his sword and dagger.

"Alright, get on your feet and start running," Marcus said in a dismissive tone. "Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance though, people like you are still ev- bloody hell!"

The young boy had pulled a dagger out of his boot, and jabbed it into Marcus' leg. Marcus lashed out and kicked the bandit in the face with his other leg, knocking him away. Marcus gritted his teeth, and quickly knelt down and pulled the blade out of his leg, ignoring the sharp pain he felt. The young bandit tried to get to his feet, but Marcus ran over and pulled him up by the hair, before ramming the dagger into his throat. The bandit let out a low breath, and died staring into Marcus' steely eyes.

With the fight over, Marcus relaxed. He dropped the lifeless body to the ground, and examined his leg. The piece of shit had got him right through the fleshy part of his thigh. It missed the bone and any major joints, but seemed to hit all the pain receptors.

 _That's what I get for showing any mercy…_ Marcus thought grimly. He wouldn't make that mistake again. It seemed that when bandits yielded in Skyrim, they didn't actually yield. His leg was bleeding fairly consistently, and the wound meant he couldn't move that quickly.

"Ah, screw it" Marcus muttered, summoning restoration magic into his hands. He placed both hands on his leg, and the golden light worked its way into the wound, healing and reconnecting the flesh. Marcus stopped before the wound was entirely healed. He had gotten good enough at the spell to be able to heal such an injury completely, but he wanted to save a little magicka for later.

He wasn't out of the woods yet.

Well, he was, since there wasn't actually any woods in the Whiterun plains, but in a metaphorical sense at least…

* * *

Crouching in the darkness, Marcus could hear a group of bandits chatting in the cavern ahead. He slowly moved up, lying on his belly, and gazed down at the unaware people. There was 3 of them clustered around the corpse of a mammoth. Another one, the leader by the looks of him, was standing on a platform, leaning over a table containing ore samples and a strange book. Marcus frowned. The bandit leader looked like quite a tough customer, in actuality. He was a giant of an orc, with a full set of steel armor and a clearly enchanted orcish battleaxe on his back. Upon closer examination of the room, Marcus could see large amounts of fatty oil pooling on the floor around the mammoth corpse. He grinned, the grin of a shark that had found fat swimmer. Marcus crept up to the edge of the railing overlooking the room, and summoned a firebolt into his hand. He stood up quickly, and threw the bolt down onto the floor in the room. The oil ignited instantly, and the three bandits standing around the butchered mammoth corpse were engulfed in fire. They all screamed in pain, and Marcus was slightly perturbed to hear that one of those screams was that of a woman. A young woman, at that.

He shook his head. _Don't think about it,_ he thought, _they're bad people, they deserve death… I hope._

The bandit leader looked up from his table to see his three compatriots flailing about on fire, then saw the lone figure standing on the platform above the room. The bandit chief snarled at Marcus, his orcish tusks jutting out of his lips in a cruel smile. He walked over to the centre of the room, and waited for the flames to die out, not caring about his burning underlings. Marcus drew his sword and dagger, and walked down a nearby ramp into the room to meet him. The two figures, weapons drawn, circled each other slowly, sizing up their opponents. The orc barked a short laugh, feeling certain he would win this engagement, like he had so many others. Marcus' face was blank, giving nothing away. The orc charged forward, swinging a sideways blow at Marcus, who promptly ducked down, the axe flying overhead. As soon as it was clear, Marcus jumped up and jabbed his dagger in his left hand toward the exposed wrist of the orc, scoring a deep cut. The orc grunted in pain, but didn't drop his weapon. The battleaxe was swung again, this time in an overhead, vertical stroke. It was a fast blow, so Marcus didn't have time to dodge it completely.

Marcus raised his sword up until it was level with his head, and tilted the blade downward. The battleaxe blade connected with the slanted sword, and was deflected slightly to Marcus' left.

Couple the deflection with Marcus' slight dodge to the right, and the axe missed him completely, sinking into a wooden plank underfoot. Marcus jumped forward and stabbed his sword toward the chief's chest. However, due to the thick armor plating, the sword just scratched the metal slightly, and didn't do any damage. The orc ripped his axe out of the floor, and took a few steps back, looking at Marcus more warily. Marcus examined his foe, looking for places where the armor wasn't as protective. The upper arm, neck, and underarm areas were the only exposed sections.

The orc growled in a low tone, "Who the fuck are you trying to be right now? Some kind of fucking hero?"

Marcus gave a smile, "That's the plan…"

The somewhat casual answer infuriated the orc, whose blood was already fired up. With a beast-like roar, the bandit chief ran forward, holding his battleaxe like a spear. The top of the axe collided with Marcus' midsection, and knocked him off his feet. His new armor protected him from any real damage, but Marcus was still winded, and lying on his back on the floor. The orc gave a savage grin, and raised his axe above his head, intent on burying it into Marcus' chest in a massive overhead strike. Marcus knew he wouldn't be able to move out of the way fast enough, but he still had a chance. He brought his sword up sideways over his chest, with his right hand gripping the handle and his left hand supporting the end of the blade.

The orc, smiled, mid-swing. He was confident his orcish battleaxe would just shear through the simple steel sword, and hit the flesh below. The axe came down on the sword, supported at both ends by Marcus' hands. A resounding 'clang' filled the room, but the sword didn't break. Marcus' left wrist did, but the sword didn't. The orc took a single step back, wondering why the sword didn't break. He didn't have much time to ponder however, as Marcus, still lying on the floor, took a deep breath and used his favourite shout.

"Fus..."

The orc frowned, what did the man say?

"RO DAH!"

A circle of blue energy slammed into the orc, catapulting him across the cavern. Marcus was on his feet in an instant, holding his sword in his one good right hand and sprinting across the floor. The orc was halfway standing when Marcus was upon him, barging into his chest and sending the chief sprawling once again. A punch was thrown at Marcus, but he batted it aside, and thrust his sword into the unprotected neck of the orc bandit chief. Emitting a low gurgle, the orc died with a look of horror on his face.

Marcus fell back on his bottom, panting slightly. He inspected his stomach, where the top of the axe had hit him. The large metal plate covering most of his torso had stopped the blade tip from reaching his skin, but he'd probably end up having a large bruise there tomorrow morning. As for his wrist, it was bent at an unnatural angle. It seems the force of a huge battleaxe landing on his sword had been directed more to the left side of the sword, where Marcus' wrist had been underneath the blade, supporting it. When the axe hit, the wrist had been practically crushed.

Marcus winced as he began walking. The natural human action of swinging their arms when they walked wasn't very enjoyable when the slightest movement to one of those arms caused spasms of pain to go up his wrist.

Marcus shrugged off the pain, and kept walking. Over the past few weeks, fighting more draugr, bandits, and angry animals than he could count, or would want to for that matter, Marcus had gotten used to the feeling of pain. He wasn't resistant to it at all, but he was more… tolerant… of the feeling, in a sense.

Marcus moved up the table that the bandit chief was examining earlier. It was strange. It had a selection of ores on it, being iron, silver, and gold, as well as a strange book. Marcus picked up the book and read its cover.

"Transmute..." Marcus said quietly, reading the words imprinted on the front. He didn't know what the word transmute meant. He'd have to examine the book later back at Breezehome.

Marcus pocketed some of the ore pieces, as well as few choice items in the large chest nearby. Aside from soul gems and a pile of gold, Marcus spotted a pair of gauntlets. Steel plate, by the look of them. They were clearly more protective than the ones he was currently wearing, but much heavier. Marcus examined them. If he could perhaps take them apart, removing the forearm section and just keeping the protection around the hands, it'd be a welcome addition. The large studs on the knuckles looked particularly deadly. Aesthetically, it'd also suit the rest of his armor, which contained the mixed pieces of other apparel/armor that he had sculpted to suit his purposes. Marcus grinned, and took them with him.

 _Now, to find a way out,_ Marcus thought, looking around.

* * *

Marcus sat in his house without a shirt on, tending to his injuries. The glow from the fireplace he was seated in front of cast a glow across his features. His healing magic had reset the bones in his wrist, but it was still very stiff and sore. As for his chest, he'd already begun to turn purple where the battleaxe had hit him. Marcus would've used his restoration magic to heal that too, but he'd heard bad things of people that used their healing magic too often. It ended up making the parts it healed weaker than they were originally.

It made sense to Marcus, when Farengar told him. It was basically the body's way of reducing its own workload. If it found it had to replace certain pieces of itself so often, it'd make them weaker, or smaller, so the process wouldn't be as strenuous or cost as much magicka next time. So, Marcus settled for healing the normal way for the most part, that way his healing magic wouldn't let him down when he needed it. He'd have to wait until his arm healed before he could experiment with those gauntlets, so for the moment, he'd look at that book he found. Putting aside the antiseptic (i.e. alcohol) and the gauze, Marcus rifled around in his bag for the book. He was just about to open it up when the door opened, and Lydia walked in, carrying a small amount of food groceries.

Marcus looked up at her entrance, and smiled briefly before returning to his book. Lydia was a little bit surprised, not to mention the slightest bit flustered at his shirtless appearance. She dismissed the flushed emotions and moved away to put the groceries away. Marcus didn't look up as she passed.

On her way back from the larder, Lydia noticed the bandages around his wrist.

"Marcus, what have you done to your… oh my goodness!" Lydia exclaimed, as she saw the bandages also wrapped around his waist.

Marcus looked up from his book, and followed her gaze to his injuries. He waved a dismissive hand toward her.

"It's nothing, Lydia, I'm fi-"

"No you're not!" she said in a worried tone, rushing over to him to inspect them closer, "If you were fine you wouldn't have bandaged yourself."

Marcus groaned as Lydia began examining his injuries, fussing over him and unravelling the cloth a little bit to see the damage.

"I'm fine Lydia, really. The wrist was broken, but I've fixed it."

Lydia stood up, shaking her head. Crossing her arms, she said, "Those ribs could be fractured, and your wrist might still be out of place. I'm taking you to Danica."

Marcus groaned again. "But whenever I go to Danica, she keeps me in that temple twice as long as necessary… She thinks its her duty to safeguard my entire being ever since we brought back that sapling."

"She keeps you there until she's certain you're healed, which is good enough for me."

Marcus stood up, and grasped Lydia by the sides of her face. Lydia gasped a little as his very warm hands touched her skin. His shirtless body was so close… she could touch it so easily…

Lydia blinked and quickly dispelled such thoughts. They had no place in her mind, she told herself.

"- so pedantic," Marcus was saying, "it's as if you're my nagging housewife or something. I'm a big boy, and I don't need constant medical care."

Lydia turned away and walked towards the eating table. "You should have brought me with you then," she said with her back facing away and her arms crossed, "taking on those bandits yourself was a dangerous undertaking."

Marcus said, "Dangerous is relative." He moved his hands in a shrugging gesture toward the ceiling. "If I don't die, I don't consider it dangerous enough to be worried about."

Lydia turned around and looked at Marcus with a baffled and incredulous expression on her face. "But that means you'd have to be dead in order to determine if a situation is… arhhh!" Lydia pinched the bridge of her cute nose with a hand in frustration. "You can be so irritating sometimes, you know that?"

"Of course I do, it's one of my most endearing qualities."

Lydia rubbed her forehead, "You have no self-preservation Marcus," she said, only half meaning it, "remember the time we fought that dragon with Delphine? With the cliff?"

Marcus smiled a wry smile as he thought back to the events at Kynsgrove. He'd basically leapt off the small cliff above Kynsgrove that housed the dragon burial site at the dragon Sahloknir. He'd stabbed his sword into the dragon's neck, and held on as if briefly flew around before crashing into the ground at the unexpected attack. Delphine had been suitably impressed, while Lydia had been practically having kittens at the sight of the stunt.

"I don't know why you're still upset at that," Marcus said with a smile, "it was a calculated risk that paid off."

Lydia just gave a loud sigh, and turned to head toward her room. There was no arguing with Marcus on such matters like this, especially when he was in such a… flustering state. Marcus watched her go. While he knew he was correct on this matter, he knew he probably shouldn't be so dismissive of her feelings.

 _I'll need to find some way to make it up to her,_ Marcus decided. Then he returned to his book, more eager on finding out what the word 'transmute' meant than actually finding out what the book was about.

* * *

Marcus slipped his new gloves on, and smiled. He was his own harshest critic, but he thought they were pretty good. He'd basically cut off the hand section of his old gauntlets, and replaced it with the fully-covered hand section of the steel plate gauntlets. Marcus clenched his hand, and imagined punching someone with this fist of steel. It would be a very short fight, in that case.

 _Now I want to punch someone,_ Marcus thought, annoyed. Whether he was annoyed at the lack of someone to punch, or at his own slightly psychopathic thoughts, he didn't know.

The desire to punch someone still remained though.

Marcus decided to head toward the general store, and see if there was any alteration magic books that would help him understand what the 'transmute' book was about. It was a very complex book, it seemed, using magical theory concepts Marcus was far away from understanding. As Marcus entered the market, he spied a woman reading a letter with a very frustrated look on her face. She was gripping the letter with a clenching hand, and she kept shaking her head in exasperated annoyance. Marcus recognized her as the mother of Mila, the cheerful little girl that often played around Breezehome with Lars Battleborn.

"Something wrong, Ma'am?" Marcus said, walking up to the stall.

The woman looked up briefly, and groaned.

"Life's hard enough without all these men propositioning me," she said, resting her forehead in her hands, "but that bard is the worst. He's just sent me another depraved love letter."

Marcus frowned, "Is someone giving you trouble?"

The woman nodded, "That bard Mikael is begging for a dagger to his throat, the way he goes on about me. I heard him boasting in the bannered mare, saying that he'll 'conquer Carlotta the way a fierce nord conquers a harsh beast. Hmph!"

Marcus' frown deepened. He didn't like the sound of this Mikael. In fact, he sounded like a right douche. Marcus wasn't usually one to intrude in affairs that didn't particularly involve him, especially when it came relationships between individuals, because of his staggering lack of experience in such matters. However, this woman sounded like she was genuinely at her wits end. Marcus thought about Mila, and how her life would be worse if her mother was constantly warding off advances from idiots, rather than caring for her. Carlotta was a single mother, and had to raise a child at the same time as making a living for them both. Negative interference from other people would make it so much harder.

Mila might end up growing more distant from her mother, if they didn't spend enough time together, or if Carlotta was always stressed or frustrated. While Marcus might not be able to assist every family in need of help, he was happy to help the occasional one. No family should end up experiencing harassment, regardless of the source.

Marcus looked up. His gaze had strayed to his feet while he was thinking. Carlotta scrunched up the letter, and tossed it aside.

"Would you like me to talk to Mikael?" Marcus asked.

Carlotta looked up, and was slightly startled by the offer.

She said, "If you want to try, go ahead… but I'm not sure how much will get through that thick skull of his."

Marcus just nodded, and made his way to the Bannered Mare. Once he was inside, he looked for a bard. Up the back, he spotted a sandy-haired man holding a lute. Marcus walked up to him, and was just about to say something when Mikael spoke first.

"Hey friend! If it's a lady you're looking for, you better look elsewhere. Once Mikael gets them, they're got."

Marcus blinked, somewhat surprised at how forward this guy was about his own douchebaggery. He folded his arms across his chest, and leaned on his back leg.

Marcus said, "Is that so? You consider yourself a ladies man?"

Mikael laughed, "I'm not a ladies man, they're all Mikael's ladies."

Marcus looked at the arrogant, narcissistic male in front of him. He reminded Marcus of all the stuck-up boys in Chorral when he was a child. They'd always have some unique feature that drew girls toward them. Sometimes it was natural confidence, natural athleticism, rich parents, or just lucky good looks. They'd be swamped by the attention of girls who didn't know any better, and the arrogant boys pretty much used them up and threw them away, while Marcus watched from the sidelines and wondered why the process never changed.

Marcus drew himself back to the present. Now was not the time to reminisce.

He said, "You need to leave Carlotta alone. It's what she wants."

Mikael snorted, "She put you up to this didn't she? Don't listen to her, she's already in my grasp, she just doesn't know it yet."

Marcus sighed. He knew it wouldn't be that easy. "Mikael, she's a single mother with nothing but her child in her sights. Leave her alone."

Mikael said in a frustrated tone, "But if I leave her alone, I can't court her! Then I'll never convince her of how great I am for her!"

"What makes you think you're great for her in the first place?"

Mikael laughed arrogantly, "look at me. I've got the body of a god and the voice of an angel! In any event, she needs someone to keep her warm at night, so why can't it be me?"

Marcus shook his head, his frustration rising. "If, for whatever reason, Carlotta does want to be with you, it should be entirely her choice. She'll come to you if she's interested, constantly throwing yourself at her isn't going to work."

Mikael frowned at Marcus, "I'm beginning to think you might be jealous… Is this some misguided attempt to get her for yourself?"

Marcus spluttered, "What? No, of course not!"

Mikael snorted, "Whatever, I can see the jealousy in your eyes. Too bad you don't have a chance. The female always goes for the strong, confident man." Mikael pointed both fingers at his own face. "Me."

Marcus closed his eyes. Carlotta was right, nothing was getting through this idiot's thick skull.

"Last chance. Leave her alone."

Mikael shoved Marcus in the chest, "I don't have to take that from you!"

Marcus staggered back, looking at Mikael. The blonde boy had his fists up in front of his face, and was advancing toward him. Marcus looked at the playboy, then down at his gauntleted fists. It looks like he would get to punch someone today. Joy.

"You sure you want to do this?" Marcus asked.

Mikael didn't answer, and just swung a wild roundhouse swing at Marcus's face. The fist didn't end up connecting. Marcus blocked it with his arm, and Mikael was forced to actually size up his opponent, particularly the metal plating surrounding his fist.

Mikael's face dropped as he realized he'd got into a fight with someone in steel armor, while he was wearing simple clothes.

"Yeah, that's right" Marcus said knowingly, as he examined Mikael's more worried stature.

If Marcus wanted to, he could have probably ended that fight then and there, intimidating Mikael into leaving Carlotta alone. If he wanted to, that is.

Marcus didn't.

Mikael was punched, full in the face, with Marcus' left hand. The short jab made the bard stagger back, clutching his nose. Marcus didn't give him any chance to breathe, coming forward with a right hook. The metal-encased fist connected with Mikael's jaw, and a shiver-inducing crunch was heard. Mikael reeled back, clutching his face once again. He fell onto the ground, on his hands and knees, and spat out a tooth. Marcus walked over slowly, wondering whether to keep beating the poor idiot, or ask if he was willing to listen to reason.

It seemed it would have to be the former, because Mikael quickly got to his feet and spun around, lashing out with a foot toward Marcus' crotch. Fortunately, when Marcus was assembling his armor, he'd made sure the area protecting his groin was reinforced. Thus, Mikael's foot, while winding Marcus and making him double over, didn't do any actual damage. Mikael doubled down on the success his 'low blow' had had. He ran up and rammed a knee into Marcus' unprotected face. Marcus fell back onto his hands and knees, facing away from Mikael. The bard moved forward, eager to hit him again. Marcus lashed out with a foot, and kicked Mikael in his stomach. The bard doubled over, and Marcus used the time he gained to get back onto his feet. Mikael rushed forward once more, and Marcus side-stepped, holding his arm up lengthways in the path of Mikael's rushing face. The bard's face slammed into the metal armguard, and he fell onto his back. Marcus was on him in an instant, and landed three quick punches with his right fist into Mikael's face. He raised his fist to punch the bard once more, but Mikael raised his hands up in submission.

"Stop! Please, no more!" The bard's voice sounded childish with his nose full of blood.

"Will you leave Carlotta alone?"

"Yes," Mikael blubbered, "I will! Just… leave me alone."

"Good." Marcus stood up, and walked straight out the door. Most of the inns patrons looking at him with happy grins on their faces, thankful for some proper entertainment at last.

Marcus stepped outside, and made straight for Carlotta's stall. The woman was still there, sweeping off the dust from her bench top.

"You don't need to worry about Mikael again," Marcus said with a soft smile, "I expressed it to him in clear tones that it's in his best interests to not pursue your affections so… agressively."

Carlotta looked at Marcus' slightly blood-smeared steel gauntlets. Her face lit up in a happy smile.

"Perfect."

Marcus asked, "Do you get a lot of attention from men like this?"

Carlotta shrugged, "Not as bad as Mikael, but there's still a lot of unwanted proposals." She shook her head sadly, "half the men in Whiterun have proposed to me, some of them were even single."

Marcus chuckled quietly, "Huh… you'd think they'd take a hint."

Carlotta nodded, "they'll never understand… the only thing that matters to me is my little Mila. No man is getting between me and my little girl."

Marcus looked at the woman, admiring her determined attitude. "That's very noble of you Carlotta," he said earnestly, "it's very important for a mother to be present in her children's lives, to the fullest extent that she can. You never know what might happen in future, so it's best to be with them while you can..."

Carlotta looked at Marcus, his gaze was off to the side and his tone was wistful. His eyes had a far-away sad look.

She said, somewhat worried, "Are you all right Marcus?" It's as if he was speaking about something that had happened to him...

He blinked, and returned to the present. "Yeah, sorry. I best be going."

Marcus nodded in farewell, and went to walk away, but Carlotta grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"What are you doing?" she said, "You did me a service, so you should be rewarded for your efforts."

Marcus frowned. "What do you mean?"

Carlotta went behind her stall, and took out a large coin purse.

"Here," she said offering it to him, "for your efforts."

Marcus smiled, "Carlotta, I did this for you because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted a reward."

She shook her head, "All the more reason for you to be rewarded. Such kindness isn't common, and should be encouraged."

Marcus looked at the sky for a few seconds, "I'd prefer it if that money went toward something more important. Spend it on Mila, instead. She won't be as humble as me, and she probably deserves it more."

Carlotta blinked. It wasn't a notion she was opposed to, but she didn't like the idea of her helper walking away empty handed.

"Are you sure?"

Marcus thought for a second, then nodded toward her stall. "If you have an apple, I might take that as payment."

Carlotta, stunned, handed over a green apple from a sack. "Is… that all?"

Marcus smiled, and nodded. As he walked away, the crunch of an apple being eaten filled the silence in the air.

* * *

Marcus woke up late the next morning, feeling remarkably better than when he went to sleep, implying his injuries had basically healed completely. His fast natural healing hadn't let him down. He slipped on a plain green shirt to compliment his brown pants, and went down the stairs of Breezehome. Lydia was already up, dressed in her armor. Marcus grabbed some bread and cheese, and joined her at the table. Lydia looked at him with a curious expression, like a child looking at an animal in a cage. Marcus looked up from his bread, unsettled as to why her gaze was unwaveringly placed on him.

"Uh… why are you looking at me like that?"

Lydia didn't answer at first, and the hint of a smile touched the edges of her lips.

Marcus said, "Seriously, is there something on my face?" He quickly rubbed his cheeks and face, seeing if he had any food or marks on him.

Lydia smirked, "Apparently there was a bar fight yesterday, between a certain pompous bard and some stranger."

Marcus stopped chewing.

Lydia asked, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Marcus looked at her with the look of a cornered animal. "… No?"

Lydia chuckled, "Why don't I believe you?"

Marcus stammered, "I… um… I don't know…?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow knowingly.

Marcus shook his head and threw his hands toward the ceiling. "The bastard deserved it! He was harassing a single mother, and I was called upon to intervene. I didn't do anything wrong."

Lydia sighed, "I'm not criticizing Marcus, from what I hear, Mikael had it coming, it's just that you did it so readily. It's as if you wanted to get into another conflict… while you were still healing, I might add."

Marcus shrugged, "There's not really a set time and place to do the right thing..."

"Hmmm," Lydia mused.

Marcus ate the rest of his breakfast in silence, thinking about the best thing to do today, now that he was 'cleared for duty' as it were, by his overprotective housecarl. There was still plenty of bounties to do, and Marcus had an inkling toward a present for Lydia, that would need the extra money…

* * *

Marcus and Lydia hunkered down atop a large boulder, and surveyed the giant camp. There was a large slanted rock at the back of the camp, with its highest point being 4 meters in height. There was one tall giant standing at a large bonfire in the center, and a couple trees scattered around the edge of the camp. There didn't seem to be any mammoths nearby, which Marcus felt relieved at. Mammoths were protective of their masters, and vice versa, so Marcus was glad he didn't have to take any extra behemoths on.

It wasn't Marcus' first choice to bring Lydia along, he didn't want her to get hurt at all, plus Lydia made him feel a little nervous. It wasn't anything wrong with her, she didn't intimidate him or anything, but she just… she made him want to do everything perfectly, or else he'd be embarrassed. Marcus didn't know why. He enjoyed spending time in her company, when she wasn't worrying about him that is, but he always felt slightly anxious. When Marcus had told her he was going to fight a giant, she'd insisted that she was to come along as well, to 'protect her thane'. Marcus had said that it'd be too dangerous for her to come.

Well, that just made it more certain she was to come along.

Now Marcus was lying down on a rock, right next to her. The skin on his right arm was touching the skin on her left arm, and he felt slightly nervous. He didn't know why though, probably just battle anxiety. He was also sort of nervous about how Lydia react to his forming plan of attack. She'd probably get mad at him, as it was very similar to how he'd attacked the dragon at Kynesgrove, in terms of riskiness.

Marcus looked sideways at her, "Stay on this rock, and shoot them with as many arrows as you can."

Lydia turned her head to look at him, her hair blowing across her clear blue eyes in the low breeze. Marcus felt his heart quicken slightly at the sight.

She said, "What will you be doing?"

Marcus looked back at the closest of the giants, knowing that she wouldn't be letting him forget what he was about to do anytime soon.

"Something stupid." He replied with an 'I'm sorry' smile.

Marcus stood up quickly, drawing his sword in one motion, and slid down the rock, rolling as he hit the grass. He broke into a sprint quickly, calling fire into his left hand. The closest giant turned to see the lone figure charging at it, and turned to face them. Marcus let loose a firebolt with his hand, changing direction so he was skirting around the giant. Arrows from Lydia began slamming into the torso of the giant as well, further harming it. The creature tried to get close to Marcus, but he made sure he was running around the bonfire, always keeping the giant a good distance away. Marcus kept firing firebolts at the giant, until his magicka was basically depleted. He then moved a distance away from the bonfire into more open ground. The giant followed.

Glancing behind the beast, Marcus saw Lydia clamber down from the rock, bow still in hand, and move closer for more damaging shots. Marcus nodded to himself. That'd probably be best. Marcus kept moving back, with the giant following him angrily and Lydia firing shots into its back. For whatever reason, it seemed to be completely disregarding the woman behind it, as if it was certain the man in front was the source of all the damage. Marcus waited until the giant seemed to be beginning to falter, both from the firebolts and the blood loss along its back from Lydia's arrows. In his careful backing off from the giant, they had ended up close to the base of the slanted rock, around the back side of the giant camp. When it staggered forward a little, Marcus chose to strike.

He motioned for Lydia to stop firing, and ran forward. The giant swung its large club downward, but Marcus leapt to the side and the club missed him for the most part. The long handle of the club hit his shoulder a little, but seeing as that wasn't where the centrifugal force was strongest, it only made Marcus stagger a little.

 _Another bruise,_ Marcus though grimly. He kept running, and jumped through the gap in the giant's legs. As soon as he was on the other side of the creature, Marcus spun around quickly, lashing out with his sword. The blade cut deep into the soft flesh behind the giant's kneecap, and the creature grunted loudly in pain. It went down on one knee, and Marcus clambered onto its back, and pulled a bottle out of his pocket. Marcus reached its head just as it was trying to stand up again. He raised the bottle above the head, and crashed it down. The liquid inside covered the face and head of the giant, and an immediate sizzling sound was heard. The giant made a guttural noise, and clawed at is smoking face. The liquid, which was a very potent acidic poison, ate its way through the flesh on the giant's head. It threw itself from side to side, and Marcus fell off, landing on the ground with a loud thud. The giant was on its knees, cradling its smoking head.

With an audible 'thwack', one last arrow from Lydia, carefully aimed, buried itself into the exposed skull of the giant, and brought it down for good. Marcus breathed out a sigh of relief, and clambered to his feet.

Sheathing his sword, he walked over to Lydia, and smiled a tired smile at her.

"Nice shooting," he said, "I can see that -"

Lydia interrupted him abruptly, shouting a wordless noise of alarm and pointing behind him.

Marcus spun around quickly, in the act of drawing his sword. His eyes showed him another giant, smaller and more agile than the first, running out from the side of the large slanted rock. It ran up to the duo and, just as Marcus' sword was half-drawn, it swung its long club into his chest, and knocked him nearly 10 metres away. Marcus gasped a ragged breath as he hit the ground, his sternum cracked and his vision was blurry with pain. He quickly used a fast healing spell, which shifted the bones in his chest back into their place, albeit that spell alone wasn't enough to restore his ribcage's structural integrity entirely.

Marcus' vision returned just in time for him to see a horrible sight. The giant was towering in front of Lydia, its club stretched out behind it. Marcus eyes filled with horror, as he saw Lydia get hit in an uppercut-style blow from the giant's club, launching her away. She spun in the air like a rag doll, and hit a tree about 20 meters from Marcus.

She didn't move, lying still, slumped against the tree.

Marcus' eyes widened in horror. Lydia didn't know any healing spells, she was going to die if he couldn't make his way to her and force a healing potion into her body.

She might be dead already, he didn't know.

Marcus was on his feet in an instant, his mouth open.

"Wuld!"

The shout launched Marcus across the distance between him and her. As soon as he was at her side, he picked her up and cradled her in his arms, and opened his mouth to shout again.

"Wuld!"

Using the same Thu'um twice in such rapid succession wasn't healthy, and Marcus could feel the bile and blood rise in his throat, but he didn't care. He pulled one of the healing potions Lydia carried out of a pouch, and placed it to her lips, tipping the bottle back. The liquid flowed down her throat, and the yellow glow spread across her body. Her wounds closed, and blood stopped flowing out of her chest as readily, but she didn't open her eyes. Marcus pulled out his healing potion from one of the pouches on his armor, and made her drink it too. The same glow covered her body, but she still didn't awake.

At this point, Marcus could hear the loud crunching footsteps of the giant getting closer, so Marcus laid Lydia down, turned, and sprinted at the monster that had harmed his closest friend. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the huge creature leaping over rocks at him, brandishing its club above its head. Marcus' blood boiled This thing would pay dearly.

The giant didn't slow down upon seeing Marcus run at it, and kept its pace. When he got close, it swung its club in a downward motion. However, it had misjudged the distance, and the club slammed down in the earth right in front of Marcus. The dragonborn didn't even falter, and sprinted up the length of the club while it was stuck in the ground. The giant's eyes widened, and Marcus leapt at its face, slashing it deeply across the neck, before jumping over its shoulder. The wound on the giant's neck wasn't fatal on its own, but it made the beast lose a lot of blood. Marcus hit the ground behind the giant, rolling to break his fall. He was again on his feet in a second, looking back the way he had come at the giant. The creature turned, and fixed its gaze on him. Blood was leaking down its front rapidly from the neck, fatiguing it, but not killing it.

Behind the giant, Marcus could see Lydia, right where he left her. She still wasn't moving, and her eyes were still closed. He could see her face, her near-perfect face, smeared with her own dried blood. Marcus realized that there was a possible reason why those potions hadn't worked.

Lydia could be dead.

His heart stopped beating for a moment, and his blood turned icy.

 _No,_ he thought, _no… please no…_

Images of Lydia flashed through his mind, her exasperated shaking of the head, her playful smile, her worried expression whenever he returned home with a new injury. All of that might never happen again.

The giant roared loudly at Marcus, who wrenched his gaze from Lydia's still body, to it.

Marcus' blood turned from ice to fire. His eyes blazed and narrowed. His heart began beating again, at a mile a minute. This creature was going to die. Marcus pulled his steel dagger from its sheathe, spun it into a blade-grip, and threw it at the giant's head. It glinted in the sunlight, spinning through the air with incredible speed, and buried itself into the giant's eye. It roared at the sky in pain, clutching its face as even more blood cascaded down onto its front. Marcus broke into a run at it, gripping his sword with white knuckles. The dagger fell from the giant's face, and it fixed its one good eye at Marcus, right in front of it. It swung its club at a speed so fast that Marcus wouldn't have been able to dodge. The club was backed by the fury and anger of the giant at being permanently harmed so badly by such a small foe, so the hit would be devastating.

But due to its missing eye, its depth perception was off.

The club thudded into the ground beside Marcus, missing him completely. He knew it was now or never, and channeled all his fury and desperation into his muscles. Marcus bolted forward and leapt off his feet with a roar echoing throughout the area, jumping almost 2 meters into the air. His sword flashed forward, and he plunged it into the chest of the giant. It roared in pain, but didn't fall. It still wasn't dead. Marcus was now hanging onto his sword, which was stuck in the giant's chest. Marcus saw the glimpse of a tree behind the beast as he hung onto its torso. An idea flashed through his head and was put into action within half a second.

He opened his mouth to shout once more, "Fus… RO DAH!"

From point blank range, the unrelenting force shout launched the giant away from Marcus, ripping his sword out of its chest and making it fly backwards at a great speed.

A sickening crunch was heard, accompanied by the sound of flesh ripping and bone cracking. The giant was stuck to the tree, a large, sharp branch sprouting from its chest, right where its heart would be. It flailed weakly, then slumped, dead.

Marcus didn't waste time inspecting the corpse. As soon as it stopped moving, he got to his feet and ran towards where Lydia was. He fell onto his knees at her side, and clutched her face in his hands. She didn't move.

"Lydia!" he choked, "Lydia, wake up!"

She didn't respond.

Marcus placed his ear to her chest, desperate for a heartbeat. She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't. The Gods wouldn't do that to him, would they?

To his immeasurable joy, he heard the faint pulse of a weak heartbeat. She was still alive… just.

Marcus instantly summoned healing magic into his hands. While he wasn't as good at healing others as he was himself, but he hoped it would suffice enough. He directed the magic through his hands, and into her body. He had used magic a lot that day, but the cascade of violent, desperate, and fearful emotions tearing through his body meant his magicka pool could've been endless.

The glow spread across her body, and Marcus heard her rake in a shallow, shuddering breath. Her eyes still didn't open.

It'd have to do, for now. Marcus picked her up in his arms, not even faltering despite the fact that he'd picked up the weight of a grown woman in battle armor, and broke into a run for the city of Whiterun, in the distance. Marcus didn't stop, he didn't rest. He just ran at the fastest speed that his body was able to muster. His legs burned, and his chest filled with stitches, but he didn't stop. Lydia's arms hung limply down, occasionally bumping against his legs; everything about her slumped stature in his arms gave off a lifeless feel. If he could get her to the healers in Whiterun, she might stand a chance… she might.

"Stay with me Lydia," he whispered to her motionless face as he ran. "Please…"

* * *

Marcus sat outside the temple of Kynareth, on the ground, clutching his head in his hands. His eyes were sparkling, and his cheeks were wet with tears. It'd been too close.

Too damn close.

Lydia had been on her last legs when Marcus got into the city. He'd screamed out breathlessly for help, and she'd been rushed from his arms to the healers. As she was carried away into the distance, Marcus, collapsed onto his knees and hands, dragging air into his lungs. The fatigue of running so far with an armored woman at dead weight in his hands finally caught up to him, filling his body with lactic acid and exhaustion.

But Marcus still wasn't done. He limped, staggered, and sometimes crawled through the city until he'd gotten to the temple, where he'd been asked to wait outside to give the healers the focus and concentration they needed… to save her life.

They'd done it, and told him a minute ago that she was stabilized, and alive. Marcus didn't feel relief though, he felt… horrible. The anguish, the fear, the desperate worrying had left him shaken to his core. He'd nearly lost her. The woman who was his closest friend, maybe even more than that. He'd gotten her into a dangerous situation…. he hadn't been fast enough… he hadn't been aware… and she'd paid the price.

Marcus forced himself to take several deep breaths. They were shaky and disjointed. He couldn't calm himself. He needed to make sure this never happened again. Not to him, not to anyone. He couldn't let something like this occur again, it had been too close. Lydia's survival was not something he could risk for an added combat advantage. Things would need to change. Marcus needed to get better at fighting. He needed to get stronger, faster, smarter, to make sure he'd never have to hold someone's lifeless, broken corpse in his hands again.

He could bring himself to fight the monsters and face the hardships of Skyrim, but he wouldn't make… no… he wouldn't LET anyone else be in the same position if he could do anything about it.

If he had actually lost her… he didn't know what he'd do… How would he have been able to cope?

Blame and guilt spun around in his head, and Marcus decided he needed to go for a walk. Sitting still wasn't helping him.

Marcus made his way to Dragonsreach, and told Proventus in a harsh tone that the giants were dead, and he was owed a significant fee. Proventus, seeing the almost crazed look behind Marcus' eyes, quickly paid him the appropriate amount, and then some. Marcus then promptly spoke to him about the required house improvements he wanted, in great detail. Marcus wanted Lydia's present there for her when she was better. It was the least he could do.

Proventus quickly nodded, and set about making the arrangements necessary. Marcus nodded in satisfaction at the Imperial's haste, and walked out of the building. He gazed upon Whiterun, and breathed out. His legs felt very shaky, and weak. He was tired and hungry, but he needed to prepare himself for what was to come. He needed to restock his potions, travelling supplies, and repair his armor. He figured a good place to get better at combat was the companions, in Jorrvaskr. Their time-tested techniques would be good to learn, if he was allowed to learn from their inner circle. Alternatively, Marcus thought back to what Farengar said, about the college of Winterhold. If he was accepted there, he could learn better spells; better restoration and combat magic, to enhance his abilities. Marcus thought over each of these options. Whichever, they'd ensure he was much more prepared for the type of situation that had nearly taken Lydia from him.

Marcus breathed out. Things weren't going to get better in his life, but he'd do his damnedest to make sure it didn't get any worse.

* * *

 **Author's notes: I'll probably do the Companions quest line, and try to make it a bit lighter. This chapter was rather heavy in terms of drama, I think. Or at least the last part was. PM/Review for any questions.**

 **I'm going overseas for a while, so next week won't have a chapter, sadly. I'll be sure to write as much as possible when I get back.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's notes: Sorry about the delay, I was overseas skiing, so I didn't have much time to write. Plus this chapter was fairly tricky to do, due to writers block mostly. I'll cover the companion's quest line arc in about 4 chapters I think, cause this one was so short, and I'll probably be making it a little bit less… evil, I guess. Werewolves and revenge-driven slaughter isn't really that honorable, which is what the companions are meant to be about. Or at least I'll make the motives behind why the MC does things in the quests a little more believable.**

 **I mean, who the hell cares about Skjor dying? He was a boring, gruff dude who was 'involved' with Aela (so he obviously needs to get out of the way).**

 **In this chapter I wanted to justify a little of the combat skill Marcus will end up having. I didn't want to go from one chapter to another and be like "hey, Marcus is op now, for no real reason'. I figured training with the companions, some of the most elite fighters in the game, would be able to help our hero a little. For free too, because who charges a friend hundreds of gold coins for something that they're expected to do?**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 7 – A Wolfish Grin

Marcus sat down on one of the benches out the back of Jorvaskr, panting heavily. His arms ached badly, and his hands could hardly hang onto his weapons. He stared down at the ground, his breath clouding in the cold air in front of him. He really needed to work on his stamina.

Marcus had spent the last hour and a half hacking away at the practice dummies behind the hall of the companions. It wasn't exactly good for honing his skill or technique, since the dummy couldn't fight back, but it was good practice to help him build up strength. Or at least, that's what Skjor had said.

 _Well, if it hurts this much, I must be doing something right…_ Marcus thought tiredly.

Despite being accepted into the circle, Marcus still couldn't claim he was as good the other circle members in terms of combat. He wasn't bad, but he still had a lot to learn. Marcus found that luck was more often than not the deciding factor in most of his serious battles, which would need to change.

"Lady luck is fickle" Vilkas had told him, "so practice your technique, so you don't need to rely on the unreliable."

So Marcus made sure to train hard. His morning dummy-hacking was basically one of the several rigorous training regimes he had put himself through, including basic weightlifting, endurance exercises, and much mentoring from the companions.

Marcus had even decided to seek help from the lower ranking members of the companions, like Ria and Njada. They were surprised that he had the humility to ask them for help, given he was already a circle member, but they realized that his rapid 'promotion' of sorts meant he wasn't as trained as the others. Marcus didn't feel like a member of some 'inner circle' in the companions, he still felt like the plainest, simplest whelp out of all of them.

His exploits in the Cairn with Farkas were more resultant from luck and common sense, like waiting for Silver Hand and Draugr to kill each other before moving forward. Nonetheless, most of the companions accepted the fact that he was primarily responsible for retrieving the Wuuthrad fragment, despite Farkas doing most of the heavy lifting.

In a funny way, Marcus' desire to reduce the skill gap between him and the other companions only made that said gap more visible, as his amateur knowledge in regards to the complex aspects of combat became apparent when he was sparring or undergoing training with the companions. Some of them made little cutting jibes at him, like Njada, but whether these were in good faith or not, Marcus didn't know. He didn't really care to be honest. They taught him what they could, and he practiced hard. While the inner shy child in Marcus wanted these new peers to like him, the colder part of Marcus that had developed over the past few weeks, that part that wanted to make sure he never held a comatose friend in his arms again, knew their personal approval wasn't necessary.

At the present, while Marcus was sitting down in a chair, panting heavily, both Ria and Aela were watching him from a distance, near the door to the main hall.

"He's been working pretty hard these past 5 days," Ria said with a thoughtful look, "he's been training practically non-stop."

Aela nodded, "I know, he's come to me for archery and knife-fighting advice multiple times."

Ria asked, "Do you know why he's dedicated himself so much to training?"

"Not sure," Aela shrugged, "I can only guess he feels undeserving of being put in the circle, since he was only raised up a few days after first joining."

"Hmm..."

Marcus stopped staring at the ground for a moment, and grabbed a nearby waterskin, gulping down several large mouthfuls. Skjor walked up behind him, and crossed his arms.

"Finished hacking apart the training dummies for now?" he said in firm tone.

Marcus chuckled. "Not exactly… despite my best efforts, the bastard is still in one piece." He mockingly narrowed his eyebrows at the straw figure a distance away.

"Is that so?" Skjor said in a unamused voice.

"Yeah, he's shaping up into a real foe of mine… I wouldn't consider it a stretch to say this dummy is now my arch nemesis."

"Really?" The same unamused tone sounded through the training yard.

"He's a tough bugger," Marcus said shaking his head sadly, "I remember what I thought when I first saw him… I knew that the two of us would clash sooner or later…

A snigger was heard from the direction of Ria and Aela. The former was hiding a smirk behind her hand, and the latter had a quiet half-smile on her lips. Skjor looked increasingly irritated at the joke, so Marcus decided to curb it. For the moment at least.

"Did you have anything to tell me?"

Skjor nodded, and his expression returned to blank. "I watched you as you trained. You're doing alright, for an amateur, but your footwork could be better."

Marcus nodded, "Could you demonstrate?"

Skjor looked up at the position of the sun, gauging the time. Then he shrugged and nodded, gesturing over to the training area near the dummies.

"I was about to suggest the same thing," he said, "since I have some spare time, and you're technique makes me feel bad when I see it, so I should try and rectify."

Marcus smiled, glad to be shown any deficiencies in regards to his combat. Ignoring the pains in his arms and shoulders, Marcus stood up and followed Skjor.

"Footwork is important with sword fighting," he was saying, "especially with your combat style, that is, two weapons. You need to ensure you maintain good balance with those two weights swinging about your upper body."

Marcus made an 'uh huh' noise in confirmation of Skjor's words.

Skjor continued, "as such, you should focus on keeping your stance balanced, with your feet apart and your body slightly hunched..."

Skjor began demonstrating the body positions one should emulate with a dual-wielding fighting style, Marcus tried his best to memorize his words. He did his best to mirror Skjor's actions, and pay attention to his advice. After about another hour, Skjor tossed him two wooden swords and grabbed one himself.

He said, "Let's see how well you were listening."

Marcus blinked, and looked down at his wooden sword.

"What?"

Skjor chuckled, "I mean, let's spar. I want to see firsthand how deadly the dragonborn is, and if you were paying good attention."

Marcus began getting worried. He wasn't bad at fighting, but Skjor was a legend amongst the companions. He'd apparently killed over 100 orcish berserkers with Kodlak, and came out with all his bits and pieces still intact. The wooden swords weren't really capable of killing someone, but they could still be very painful, and cause both bruises and fractured bones.

"Uh… I'm not really sure about this." Marcus said slowly.

Skjor laughed, "What? The great Dragonborn is afraid of sparring against a one-eyed old man?"

"Yes."

Skjor just chuckled, and readied himself. Marcus sighed slightly, there wasn't any way he was getting out of this, so he might as well try to fight back as best he can and hopefully he wouldn't be confined to his bed for the next several weeks, nursing his broken bones.

Marcus held both weapons in his hands tight, and fixed his gaze on Skjor. The older man walked slowly toward Marcus, holding the wooden sword in a two-handed grip. When Skjor was about 5 metres from Marcus, he pounced, leaping forward and bringing his sword down in an overhead cut, aimed for Marcus' collarbone.

Marcus raised both his swords above his head in an 'X' pattern, and Skjor's weapon got stuck in the middle. In the back of his mind, Skjor noticed that Marcus was only able to withstand the force of the downward blow because his legs were braced apart, adding to the resistance of the crossed wooden weapons. Marcus then brought his left sword down, and used his right sword to push Skjor's blade further away to the right. Marcus then jabbed his left sword toward Skjor's unprotected ribs, but in an amazing display of speed, Skjor was able to twist his body to the side and flick his wooden sword over to parry away Marcus' quick jab.

Skjor then reversed his sword's direction, and made a slash at Marcus' chest. Marcus saw it coming early however, and due to his braced, feet-apart stance, was able to bend backward and to the side, avoiding the swing by a centimetre or so.

The two men backed off from each other slightly, breathing a little more heavily after the exchange. Marcus tried to analyze his opponent, looking for any potential gaps in his guard, but to no avail. Skjor's stance and position of his swords made it so that any swing in his direction could be parried away with minimal movement. Marcus wondered why Skjor was so intent on this fight, both parties knew it wasn't really much of a contest.

Marcus moved forward quickly, swinging a diagonal blow at Skjor from the left with his right arm, and as expected, Skjor parried it across his body, leaving Marcus' right side exposed. Skjor, once again showing his incredible speed, flicked the wooden sword in the opposite direction, and thrusted for Marcus' midsection. Marcus basically had to throw himself to the right, landing on the dirt hard, in order to avoid the hit. In the action, he lost one of his two wooden swords, and it went clattering away onto the dirt a few feet away. Skjor kept moving however, not giving Marcus any room to breathe, and quickly stepped over to Marcus' prone body and raised his wooden sword above his chest, intent on thrusting down execution-style.

Marcus quickly rolled over, and the wooden sword stuck into the dirt a second later.

 _Divines,_ thought Marcus, _he isn't messing around… its all or nothing._

Gathered around the sparring area, most of the companions had gathered, watching the duel with amusement. They kept a fair distance, milling around the undercover area with the tables, leading up to the main hall. They mumbled to each other in low tones, commenting on each fighter's strategy and who they thought would win. Basically everyone agreed that Skjor would come out on top.

While he was still on the ground, Marcus brought up his last wooden sword, and threw it at Skjor. The lump of wood wasn't really balanced for throwing, but Marcus didn't need it to be. The abrupt, unexpected action made Skjor flinch slightly, which gave Marcus enough time to spin a foot out and kick away Skjor's sword, which was still stuck into the dirt beside him. Skjor grunted in frustration, and made a move to retrieve it, but Marcus quickly leapt up onto his feet in front of Skjor, between him and his wooden sword.

Their bodies about a foot apart, Marcus and Skjor looked into each others eyes for a brief moment. Skjor took action first, and punched a fist into Marcus' stomach. Marcus bent over slightly and let out a lungful of air. Skjor tried to swing a right uppercut into Marcus' face while he was bent over, but Marcus saw it coming, and bent his body right back (imagine he was doing limbo) and the fist went sailing just in front of his face.

Marcus capitalized on the near miss, and headbutted Skjor full in the face. A gasp went through the surrounding companions as Skjor reeled back, clutching his nose. Marcus rubbed his forehead, it hurt slightly. Skjor's face was tough. The two men once again stood apart from each other, and fixed their gaze on each other's stance. They each glanced briefly at the nearest wooden swords, waiting one of them to make a move. The crowd of companions watched with borderline excitement. None of them expected Marcus to last this long against Skjor.

The older man made a dive for one of the closest wooden swords, grasping it with his hands and rolling to end up back on his feet. Marcus basically did the same, only less gracefully. They both ended back on their feet, each man clutching one wooden sword in their right hands. They each stared into each others eyes. Marcus gazed into the mud brown eyes of Skjor, the iris giving off a slightly 'feral' look. Skjor looked into the bright hazel of Marcus' eyes, each one so bright it looked like they contained individual bonfires.

They both moved at the same time, charging at each other. Their feet pounded into the dirt, and the breathe of every companion watching hitched in their throats. The two men swung at each other at the same time, the wooden blades arcing toward each other. They collided a second later, and a crash was heard throughout the training yard. A series of wooden shards hit Marcus' face, as his wooden sword shattered. Skjor's sword was obviously a little bit stronger, so it didn't break. Marcus was forced onto the ground, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Skjor's wooden sword pointed at his neck. The world was still for a while, the only noise Marcus heard was his heart beating loudly in his ears. Then the tension in the air broke, and smiles broke out on both Skjor's and Marcus' face, and the former helped the latter to his feet.

As expected, Skjor ended up winning, but Marcus could take solstice in the fact that this particular victory had been purely because of luck. The sword Marcus had picked up was weaker than Skjor's, either because of construction or the fact it was more worn down from use. Skjor might have won anyway, through better skill and experience, but at least this way, Marcus didn't lose too much face with the onlooking companions. Not that he would have anyway, most of them were very impressed with the display.

Skjor pulled Marcus to his feet, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Not bad, new blood," he said with a grin, "not bad at all."

Coming from someone like Skjor, this was very high praise, and Marcus couldn't help but feel slightly proud of himself.

"Thanks Skjor… I can see why everyone speaks so highly of you."

Skjor nodded, "I wanted to see if you were paying attention, and you were, of which I am glad."

Skjor dusted himself off, and walked off toward the main hall. Marcus ignored the eyes of the companions lingering on him, and picked up the shattered remains of his wooden sword. The wood was all splintered just above the handle. Skjor must have really hit the sword hard, for that to happen. Marcus hadn't heard of that sort of thing happening before. Skjor was by no means a small man, he was almost twice as muscular and tough-looking as Marcus was, but one didn't think he had the strength in him to carve a piece of wood in two with another piece of wood. At the back of his mind, Marcus wondered if this was due to the fact that Skjor was a werewolf, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it arose. Werewolves were only stronger in their beast form, he reckoned. Marcus shrugged, and headed into the main hall with the rest of the group, only now realizing how hungry he was.

* * *

Marcus sat at a table, reading one of the books scattered about the place while eating a beef and lettuce sandwich. The book described a long-ago battle, and Athis had told him that it contained a lot of tips regarding the wearing and use of light armor. Marcus didn't really see how. It was just a storybook, really. Only half of the story actually contained any fight scenes, the other half was describing the main character's cliché relationship with a battle-maiden. It seemed like every hero in these books eventually paired up with a significant other sooner or later. Marcus wondered if there was any real merit to such a common narrative feature. Did heroes always find love in real life? He made a mental note to ask any heroes he came across.

Like it often did, Marcus' mind began to wander. It was getting late, and Marcus had to make the decision of heading back to Breezehome for the night, or staying in his quarters here. Breezehome was more comfortable, but it reminded him of Lydia, who was still lying in the temple of Kynareth, barely conscious. He'd see her newly furnished bedroom and be reminded of how he couldn't protect her. Dimly, Marcus wondered when she'd be released from the healer's care, and what she'd say to him. He wondered if he wanted to. He'd been by to see her in the temple a few times, but he'd never been there on the brief occasions that she regained consciousness.

Sighing, Marcus put the book down, and saw Aela walking up to him. He immediately stood to attention, and accidentally knocked his sandwich to the floor, as it was resting on his knee.

"Ah crap..." muttered Marcus, bending down to see if the food was still salvageable. It wasn't, because the floor in Jorvaskr was filthy.

Marcus looked up at Aela accusingly, "You cost me a sandwich.".

"I'm sure you'll survive." she replied evenly.

"Not if you keep ruining my food."

"You're the one that jumped up like a bootlicking whelp eager to please."

Marcus didn't respond, he just cast his eyes to the floor. He didn't mean to seem like an overly eager child, but he'd be lying if he didn't want to please Aela. Her fiery hair and attitude were incredibly appealing, as were her flawless face and slightly revealing choice of clothing. The only part of her that wasn't perfectly symmetrical was the three lines of warpaint going across her face. The logical part of Marcus' mind told him that the 14-year age gap between the two meant he'd never have a chance, as he was 21 and she was 35, and that he should just stop the irrational attempts to get on her good side. Not to mention the fact that she was a savage huntress who most likely preferred grizzled war veterans… like Skjor, come to think of it.

Marcus brushed himself off and sighed, no point in thinking about pointless things. "What did you want?"

Aela jerked a thumb behind her to the stairs leading up to the main section of Jorvaskr. "Skjor wanted to see you."

Marcus blinked, "About what, exactly? Not a rematch, I hope."

A hint of a smile touched Aela's lips, "No, not that. This is more of a task… of sorts."

"He doesn't harbor any grudges against me for the sparring match does he? I'm not about to be sent on some impossible suicide mission?"

Aela shook her head, "Skjor isn't like that. Think back to the match, do you think of it as a bitter experience?"

Marcus thought for a second. It was a tough battle, but there was something satisfying about crossing blades, even if they were wood, with Skjor. He felt like he'd come out of the battle knowing the man a little better, being able to call him more of a friend.

Marcus said, "In a sense, as if we shared a bonding moment of sorts."

Aela nodded, "That's it. That's how he feels as well. It's common amongst people who've experienced a tough battle either with or against each other, as long as there was no undercurrents of enmity in the first place."

Marcus frowned, latching on to one particular part of what Aela had said.

"A tough battle... Did I actually give the great Skjor enough of a challenge for him to consider it 'a tough battle'?"

Aela didn't answer at first, at turned around to walk to her room.

"Don't get too full of yourself, Marcus," she called over her shoulder, "it might become unhealthy."

* * *

Marcus walked up to Skjor and seated himself next to him.

"Aela said you wanted me for something?"

Skjor nodded, and let out a deep breath. "I did. Your time has come."

Marcus frowned slightly, "That sounds ominous, what kind of trial is next? This isn't about the sparring match?"

Skjor snorted slightly, and gave a brief smile. "No, I think I'll let you think you could've won if your sword hadn't broken for a little longer. This is about something else."

Marcus shrugged, "I'll do my best at any mission you think I'm ready for."

Skjor shook his head, "This is no mission, new blood, but a gift."

"I'm not sure I follow..."

"Meet me in the underneath the Skyforge at midnight. Don't tell anyone about this."

With those words, Skjor stood up and left, presumably heading for his quarters. Marcus didn't know what to make of that. It sounded like Skjor was going to do something shady. In what place is meeting in a creepy, unknown area at midnight going to result in something wholesome and charitable? But the way Skjor said it made it seem like it was a really good thing for Marcus.

 _What is good for someone and is done in a really shady area?_ Thought Marcus.

Hallucination substances was the first thing that came to mind, like skooma, but he didn't really think someone like Skjor would be dealing in those sorts of things, much less be giving it to members of the companions. Maybe Skjor was going to give Marcus a really cool sword with some kind of evil undertones? Marcus had read about some of the daedric artifacts that might tick those boxes, but again, he didn't really know why Skjor would have any of those things, and least of all why he'd give them to Marcus.

It seemed like the best bet would be to simply go and see what Skjor was on about, and deal with whatever happens, when it does. Marcus walked outside to gauge the time. It was about late evening, with the sun almost setting. He breathed out a breath of air, and decided to head into the lower levels of Jorvaskr and get a little rest before midnight. He didn't know why, but Marcus felt like he wasn't going to like whatever was going to happen in the underforge.

* * *

Marcus arrived at the underforge 10 minutes early, as if he was going to a job interview. A few moments later, he heard Skjor walk up behind him.

Marcus turned, seeing Skjor's face clearly in the full moonlight. "What's this all about?"

"You'll see," was all Skjor replied.

Realizing he wasn't going to learn anything more at this point, Marcus followed Skjor into the underforge. Inside, it was pitch black, but Skjor moved with practiced ease, as if he already knew where everything in the room was. He moved over to a wall, and with a strike of flint on steel, lit a torch.

As light flooded into the room, Marcus almost fell over in shock. In the centre of the room, next to a strange basin, was a huge werewolf. His hands instantly went to his sword, hanging at his side, but his hand was stopped by Skjor.

Skjor said, "It's Aela, in werewolf form… not a threat."

Marcus calmed, but only slightly. The towering monster curled its lips at him in what was presumably supposed to be a smile, but ended up looking like a creepy snarl. It was very intimidating.

"Uh…," Marcus began in a slightly nervous tone, "what's going on here? Why is this all so… the way it is?"

Skjor finished lighting the torches in the room, and turned to face Marcus.

"In order to reach the heights of physical ability, and the heights of the companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf."

Marcus opened his mouth to say something, but no noise came out. He was shocked. He thought the werewolf thing Farkas and Kodlak told him about was an outdated thing, or at least optional. Kodlak made it sound like an outdated tradition resultant from the bad choices of his predecessors. Marcus automatically assumed everyone in the companions felt that way. He didn't know it was obligatory for all circle members.

"We do this in secrecy because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we've been given," Skjor continued, "he says it's a curse, but he's wrong. How could something that grants this kind of prowess be a curse?"

Skjor gestured toward Aela with a hand, in order to emphasize the majesty of the form. Marcus didn't know what to think. Sure, the werewolf was a physically strong thing, but in almost every book and story he'd read, werewolves were almost entirely evil, savage monsters. Then again, Aela didn't look like she was losing control and tearing apart innocent people.

 _What a transformation,_ thought Marcus, staring at Aela, _there's not even a single reminder of her human form, much less that she's a female…_

While Marcus didn't particularly like the idea of becoming a werewolf, he couldn't deny that it would be a serious game-changer. Marcus thought back to the sparring match earlier that day, and how fast Skjor managed to move, and his seemingly unnatural strength. It seemed like such a boon, one that Marcus himself could take.

"Is that why you were able to break apart that wooden sword?" Marcus asked, "because you're a werewfolf?"

Skjor nodded, "In a sense, it offers more benefits than a beast-like form."

Skjor and Aela were looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. Nervously, Marcus cleared his throat.

"Umm… What does being a werewolf actually entail?"

Skjor chuckled, "Apart from the ability to rip apart your enemies with ease? You get better stamina, more endurance, and if you feast on the corpses of those you kill, your powers increase dramatically. Even if you're not in werewolf form, you have heightened senses and your reflexes increase to that of the strongest beasts.

Marcus thought that sounded very impressive, apart from the 'feasting on the corpses of your enemies' part. That seemed a little extreme, although he had no doubt when in werewolf form, the idea would be more appealing. But still, how could he guarantee that he'd be able to control himself, even if Aela and Skjor could? Marcus had heard of plenty of stories of insane werewolves charging into towns and laying waste to innocent lives.

"Are you sure I'd be able to control myself?" Marcus asked.

Skjor nodded, "This isn't like most other werewolf transformations. We have more control than most, and can separate ourselves from the violent beast within. The only downside is you'll never have fully restful sleep."

 _I rarely sleep that well anyway,_ thought Marcus grimly. Nightmares and anxiety-ridden dreams flocked to him in his slumber.

The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. He just couldn't get over the fact that he, Marcus, an average sized person, would become such a dangerous, predatory mass of tensed muscle and sharp claws.

"I… I don't know," Marcus said rubbing his arms, "I hardly feel like a werewolf is the most benevolent of creatures..."

"Marcus!" Skjor interrupted, walking forward grabbing him by the shoulders, "You stand on the brink of power most men DREAM of! With this gift, you'll be able to achieve whatever you initially joined the companions for, only to a larger, better extent! This power makes you the strongest predator that Nirn has ever seen… Are you really going to throw that away? Is that what you want?"

Marcus cast his eyes to the floor, and turned around. He didn't know. He'd joined the companions to get better at fighting, so he could protect himself and those around him better. Marcus wanted to make sure there wouldn't be more grieving families like those of the guardsmen who died at the watchtower. He wanted to make sure the friends he'd made in the short time he was in Skyrim, like Hadvar and Lydia, would spend the nights in their own homes, not in a healer's temple. He wanted to be able to achieve whatever plan the Gods had in store for him with as little collateral as possible. There seemed to be no end to the troubles that plagued the people in the streets, and Marcus couldn't help but sympathize, he couldn't help but want to help.

Would he really be able to solve the problems that these people had on his own? No. Would he be able to do it with people like Lydia at his side? Potentially. Was he strong enough to guarantee their own safety while these they helped him? No… not like he was at the moment.

Against his will, Marcus' mind drifted down into his past, latching on to the memory of that one person that he couldn't protect, as much as he wanted to, all those years ago…

If becoming a werewolf gave him the power he needed to achieve whatever destiny he had, without holding someone he cared about, dying in his arms, then so be it.

Marcus raised his head, and turned around to stare Skjor and Aela straight in the eyes.

"I'll do it. I'll become a werewolf."

* * *

 **Author's notes: Again, sorry for the delay, and sorry for the short, somewhat 'rushed' nature of this chapter. I'll be sure to make the next one extra good. I'll also have to plan out the characters a little more, like Aela, and how I'll be sculpting/displaying them. Feel free to leave a review to offer your own two cents.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	8. Chapter 8

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 8 – Reprisals

Marcus awoke feeling groggy, and cold. His mouth felt all sickly, and had a texture similar to sandpaper. He ran his tongue through his mouth, and felt that his canine teeth were a hell of a lot bigger than normal. Strange. He blearily opened his eyes and gazed up at a snowy sky, complete with snowflakes lazily drifting down. He glanced down at his body, and saw that he was only wearing his underwear. That's why he was so cold.

Marcus got up into a sitting position, and looked around the area. Aela was sitting on a rock a couple metres away, watching him intently. As his eyes found her, all the memories of the previous night came back. The blood ritual, Skjor, Aela's blood filling the small basin…

He'd become a werewolf.

The last thing Marcus could remember was a burning rage filling him, and watching his own skin turn to thick black fur.

He grimaced, trying to remember what happened after that event. He couldn't.

Marcus asked Aela, "What happened last night?"

She replied, "Nothing bad, thankfully. Yours was not an easy transformation, but we stopped you from going too out of control."

"I nearly lost control? I thought you said that wouldn't happen."

Aela shook her head, "Skjor said that, not I. Besides, the first transformation is always the toughest, most mentally draining. You should be fine."

Marcus looked down at his hands. He felt… odd. His thoughts seemed clouded, in a sense. There was a new niggling feeling in the back of his head, like he should be scanning his surroundings for any foes, or food. He had a feeling like he should go hunt some animals, or kill something. He was more alert, but only in the sense that he was more 'on edge'. It was faint, and buried under a lifetime of politeness and reserved attitudes, but it was there. Unbeknownst to him, Marcus' eyes had also lost a small amount of their fiery orange color, and a more, sickly yellow took its place. Again, this change was faint.

Aela continued talking, "Anyway, we've got a special treat lined up for you. We're near an encampment of a group of werewolf hunters: The Silver Hand. You've met them before. We're going to slaughter them. All of them."

Marcus thought back to the events at Dustman's Cairn. How the silver hand tried to kill Farkas and him. While he was certainly angry at them, and knew their very presence in Skyrim was a threat to him, now more than ever, he wasn't sure if massacring a camp full of them was necessary.

"Isn't that a little extreme?"

Aela shook her head, "These bastards have gotten bold of late, and have taken to attacking the Companions on sight whenever they see us outside of Whiterun. We need to put them down, sooner rather than later."

Marcus couldn't disagree with that, plus the wolfish part of him hungered for a chance to fight… to kill a worthy prey.

He nodded, "Alright, let's do it. Do… do you have anything for me to wear?"

Aela leaned behind her and took out his armor, with his steel sword and dagger. Marcus went to put them on, when he noticed Aela wasn't looking away.

"A little privacy?" he asked frowning.

"You're not taking off any extra clothes, you're just putting on stuff. I don't see why I'd have to, if I've already seen you like this," she gestured with a hand to his underwear.

"Well, better late than never."

"To do what?"

"Look away."

Aela smirked slightly, and turned away and walked a little way up the hill.

Marcus grunted in annoyance, and got suited up. He sheathed his weapons, and nodded to Aela, who was still watching.

"I'm ready."

"Good, let's go. Skjor is already up ahead, scouting."

The two moved up a snowy hill, toward the dark outline of a fort.

"Do we actually have any strategy?" Marcus asked. He knew Aela was a competent fighter, more so than he was, but a game plan was still necessary when taking on a bunch of bandits on their home turf.

Aela got down into a crouch once they'd gotten closer. "Skjor would've already softened them up, so there won't be as heavy resistance as normal. You seem competent with those blades, so head in first, and I'll give cover with my bow. Wait for my signal before you attack."

Marcus nodded. He unsheathed both his weapons, and crept up to the wall of the fort, right next to the entrance. He waited until he heard the tell-tale 'thwack' of an arrow finding its mark, and a silver hand bandit fell off the wall and landed in the snow a two metres away. Figuring that was the signal, Marcus jumped up and sprinted through the gate.

He took in his surroundings in a few seconds, seeing three more silver hand bandits. Two on the ground, and one up on a wall a little way away with a bow. Marcus sprinted forward, and shouted Fire Breath at the first bandit, a redguard with a sword. The man wasn't expecting his opponent to know the Thu'um, so he tried to dodge, but since he was already running full tilt at Marcus, he caught the fire ring full in his torso. The man screamed briefly, frantically patting his chest, before falling to the ground, dead.

The second bandit was an orc, with a heavy two handed silver sword. He swung a downward blow at Marcus, who raised his sword at a diagonal angle, and deflected it to the side, resulting in the heavy blade sinking into the snow. As the orc tried to remove the sword from the ground, Marcus stepped in close and sank his dagger into the orc's ugly fat neck. He made a brief gurgle, and fell down dead.

"Marcus!"

Aela's shout of alarm caused him to whip around, and see the third silver hand aiming his bow at his chest. Aela too, had her bow fixed on the archer, but there was no way her arrow could reach him, before his reached Marcus.

"Fye!" Marcus shouted, turning ethereal.

The arrow from the silver hand shot away, and passed harmlessly though Marcus. A second later Aela's arrow hit the bandit in the chest with a wet 'thump'.

Marcus' physical form returned to him, and he breathed out a breath of relief. He sheathed his weapons, and checked the bodies for any healing potions or other useful items. He then walked up onto the around the entrance, and looked for anything useful. Aela came running up to him.

"Really?" she said, "you're looting the place?"

"Why not?" Marcus replied, "it'll only go to waste, and now's probably the best time to do it."

Aela just grunted, not particularly approving of the action of looting just after a battle, but not really finding any proper reason to condone.

She walked a little way away and retrieved her arrows, and said in her usual stern voice, "Pretty useful, that shout. I forgot you were dragonborn for a moment there. You had me worried."

Marcus feigned mock surprise, "You were worried about me? Goodness Aela… don't tell me you actually care about other people?"

She bristled in irritation, "I don't want to carry your corpse all the way back to Jorrvaskr, alright?"

Marcus chuckled and turned away, toward the large door leading into the fort. "I don't know why you'd bother carrying my corpse for a burial. I probably wouldn't bother with you, to be honest."

Aela's frown deepened, "Really? Is that the kind of honor we've taught you, new blood?"

Marcus smiled at the phrase 'new blood'. At this point, he couldn't really be considered that anymore. He'd become a werewolf, for Divine's sake. He wasn't whelp anymore. Still, he let it slide.

Marcus said, "not really, I just figure that any situation that is bad enough to kill you would mean I'd need to leave the area really quickly, or I'd die too."

"Hmph."

"To be honest, I'd probably be dead before you, in any event."

Aela went to say something, but then just shrugged, and opened the door to the silver hand hideout. Marcus shook his head in confusion, and followed. The walked through the first room, and saw that the doorway leading further down into the underground sections of the fort was barred.

"Look at this," Aela snorted in contempt, "the cowards must have locked the place up after Skjor came charging in."

Marcus asked in a concerned voice, "Is it particularly wise for him to do that? He's only one man."

Aela laughed, "Skjor is tough enough to handle these weaklings, I just hope he's left some for us."

A bit of Marcus was slightly put off by such a casual, bloodthirsty nature, another bit of Marcus, the wolf within him, agreed with her, hungering for a fiercer fight. Regardless of this minor internal conflict, the two companions pulled a lever and moved down into the fort. They came across a few silver hand sitting down around a campfire, and made short work of them. Aela fired her bow into the neck of one, Marcus ran another through with his sword, and Aela cut the throat of the third from behind while he was trying to leave the room to raise the alarm.

* * *

They continued through the first half of the underground fort in a similar fashion. They'd approach a room, listen for a while to determine how many people were in the room, then Aela would shoot her bow at whichever target looked to be the largest threat. Then Marcus would run in, and cut down one or two targets, while Aela took down whoever was left with her bow or her incredibly sharp dagger. It was a very effective strategy, as there was never more than 4 silver hand in the room, and they rarely had much protective armor. Once, they came across a nord that had full steel armor, but Aela showed a remarkable level of talent, and shot him in the neck. She very rarely missed.

In one room, something caught Marcus' eye, in a small side chamber. There was a closed door, and he could see a large amount of blood leaking through the bottom of it. Marcus had yet to see any sign of Skjor, aside from the occasional dead silver hand, so when Marcus saw the blood, he feared the worst. As he opened the door, he literally fell backwards in shock. Had Aela not been behind him to catch him, he would have hit the floor. She pulled him to his feet, then stepped forward to examine what was behind the door.

It was a werewolf, hanging from the ceiling by one of its hands. It had vicious cuts and wounds all over its body, and sections of its flesh had been hacked off. The room stank of dried blood and rotting flesh. The creature had been there for about a week, by the look and smell. Marcus tried not to gag, while Aela remained stony-faced.

"Who is this?" Marcus gasped. His new enchanced senses made the stench even worse, and the very sight of a slaughtered werewolf stirred the primal, wolf-like parts within him with anger. A sort of pack-mentality, most likely induced by Hircine.

"Don't know," Aela mused, "it's not Skjor, if that's what you're worried about. Some people can't separate the wolf from themselves like we can… this poor thing could have been anyone."

Marcus risked another quick glance at the creature, it's lips were shaped into a frozen howl, or a scream. No doubt it had died in immense pain and agony.

"Why would they do something like this?" Marcus asked as he had to look away again. He hadn't seen something this gross in a very long time. It was like the silver hand had gone out of their way to make the spectacle as gruesome as possible. In fact, that was probably exactly what they had done.

"Because they're horrible people," Aela said through gritted teeth, "they've come to view werewolves and their ilk as less than human, probably less than animals, so there's no reason to treat them with any of the associated rights or niceties."

Marcus shook his head, and walked away, "Let's keep going, they all deserve to die, if this is what they consider appropriate for people like us."

"Agreed."

They moved down another corridor, keeping their ears peeled for any noises that would indicate any silver hand in need of justice. They moved forward slowly, Aela in front. The walls were somewhat wet, Marcus noticed, probably due to snow melt during the warmer seasons. There was plenty of mold on the walls and ceiling, but not the floor, which was odd because –

Marcus instantly wrapped his arms around Aela's chest and wrenched her backward. An instant later, in the spot where she'd been standing, a large iron spike shot out of a concealed slot in the wall, piercing the air where Aela had just been standing.

Aela, initially, was fairly infuriated, because Marcus had basically grabbed his hands on top of her 'ample' chest and thrown her to the ground, for no reason.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she shouted as she flicked her hair out of her face, facing the ground. She turned over to look angrily up at Marcus, about to berate him for groping her, when she saw the large iron spike. He was already up close to it, inspecting the trap.

She said, "Oh..."

"Yeah, I just saved your life," he said nonchalantly, "that's what what I was doing."

Aela was still angry, but she toned it down because it was foundation-less. Sure, he had grabbed her breasts, rather roughly, but he had good intentions, so she could live with it. Her chest tingled slightly, sensitive now that it had been touched, and a random, completely bizarre thought popped into her head that was so outrageous she immediately dispelled it and refused to acknowledge it's existence in the first place. She would never ask him that, she told herself. Just one of those stupid thoughts that you'd never actually do, like jumping off a cliff when standing at its edge.

"Ahem," she coughed, clearing her throat and restoring her dignified pose, as well as her stern voice, "let's keep moving."

Marcus said, "Agreed. Keep an eye on the floor this time."

Aela grumbled something intelligible.

* * *

Marcus wished he was as good at using a bow as Aela. As they moved through the rest of gallows rock, she shot arrow after arrow at the silver hand, always taking out the biggest threat first. She barely missed, and when she did, another arrow was already on its way within seconds. It made Marcus' job easier, that's for sure, as a CQC fighter. Often he'd end up fighting the enemies that were wearing basic fur armor, which were very easy. He just needed to make sure he remembered what he'd been taught in the last couple of days. He used shouts occasionally, but his voice was starting to get a little scratchy. He'd noticed he couldn't keep up shouting too much for too long, especially when he used his three-word shout 'Unrelenting Force'. That one really took it out of him.

The two came across a larger room, with tables in the middle, and a large candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There were four silver hand inside, two with swords and two with greatswords. The two with greatswords were both wearing steel armor. Aela stepped out of the doorway and fired her bow at one of the men in steel armor. The arrow hit him in the neck, and he began gurgling and bleeding all over the table. The other three jumped up, and Marcus used Fire Breath on two, ignoring the growing ache in his throat. The fourth silver hand, in steel armor, was running at Marcus and swung an overhead cut at him, but Marcus jumped out of the way. The silver hand shouted angrily, and turned to attack Marcus again, but exposed his back to Aela in the process, as she was still in the doorway.

Another arrow was let loose, and the silver hand grunted in pain as it buried itself into the back of his knee. Marcus took the opportunity to run forward and stab the man in the throat with his dagger. Blood flowed out of the neck onto Marcus' hand, and the man's eyes widened in horror. Marcus' eyes gazed back coldly. A hint of yellow mixed with fiery amber.

Marcus wiped the blood off his dagger, and nodded thanks at Aela.

"We're getting close to their leader now," she said, "we'll need to be careful. They call her the 'Krev the Skinner' for a reason..."

An image of a werewolf skinned of its black fur flashed through Marcus' mind. He grimaced. "I'll make sure I am."

The two headed down one more corridor. When they reached a door, they crouched down and listened. They heard talking on the other side, laughs and barking orders.

Aela whispered, "Five, by the sounds of it."

Marcus nodded in affirmation, and they slowly opened the door, being careful to stop if it made creaking noises. Once the door was opened, they saw several silver hand working away at tanning racks. The largest tanning rack stood in the centre of the room, which was circular with large pillars around the edges. On this large tanning rack was a very new hide, by the looks of it. It was small and covered in blood. The person in front of this rack was a very tall, muscular woman. She was dragging an ornate steel dagger across it in slow, practiced movements. Krev, no doubt.

Marcus whispered to Aela, "I'll sneak around the side and get into position, when they get alarmed, start shooting."

Aela considered the plan briefly, then nodded, nocking an arrow. Marcus crept around the edge of the room, sticking to the shadows created by the pillars and the firelight. His armor wasn't particularly light or heavy, being made from a mix of salvaged metal and leatherwork, but it didn't make too much detectable noise unless he got close to his target. Once Marcus was 90 degrees further around the circular room (in relation to the entrance), he stopped moving. He slowly unsheathed his sword, but kept his dagger on his belt. In his left hand, he channeled fire magic. He hadn't used it in a while, so it took a bit longer for the flames to build up. In the few seconds that passed while the flame grew in Marcus' hand, a nearby silver hand saw the flickering fire out of the corner of his eyes, and made to turn.

But it was too late. Marcus cast his hand out and the fireball sailed into the room and struck the semi-suspicious silver hand in the head. The man's entire skull burst into flames, and he flailed about the room screaming and frantically patting his head. Unfortunately for the man, and fortunately for Marcus, the guy had very oily hair, and thus the flames made short work of him and he dropped down moments later, dead.

The other silver hand warriors jumped up in alarm. One of them went to unsling his bow, but Aela got to him first. Her arrows landed in the centre of is chest, the heavy broadhead punching through the fur armor and bringing him to his knees. A firebolt from Marcus hit the same man, and he went down properly. Two down, three to go.

By now, the other silver hand were up and had their weapons drawn. The first two had silver swords, while Krev had two axes, one in each hand. They looked like vicious, jagged things, easily capable of tearing flesh. They also had a large pointy spike sprouting from the non-blade side of the axe, presumably for penetrating small gaps in armor. Krev and one silver hand went for Aela, who'd moved out of the doorway into the room, and had skirted around to the other side, so Marcus and her were at opposite ends of the large room. The last silver hand, an elf, went for Marcus.

Marcus clutched his sword and thrusted at the elf, who deftly dodged to the side, and in turn thrusted back. Marcus brought the edge of his sword up quickly, and parried the elf's sword upward so that instead of it piercing his stomach, it scratched against the metal pauldron on his shoulder.

Marcus then brought his left hand forward and down, so it was in front of his stomach. He channeled fire into his left hand one last time, and blasted the elf's lower chest at point blank range. The firebolt scorched the elf's skin, and he screamed in pain. Marcus then brought his sword down in an overarm cut, and buried the blade into the collarbone of the elf. It cut through the thin bone there, and sank several inches down into his flesh, cutting the arteries just above the heart. The elf gasped throatily, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell down.

Marcus ripped his sword out of the dead elf, and quickly looked for Aela. She was in the centre of the room, backed up against the inner side of one of the pillars. The fourth silver hand warrior was dead on the floor, with an arrow and a deep dagger wound in his chest. Right beside the body, was Aela's bow, cut in half, curtesy of Krev.

Krev seemed to have both momentum and advantage, and had Aela pinned against the pillar with multiple lightning fast swings from both axes. Aela was only just able to dodge and parry away the attacks, meaning she was unable to devote any concentration or energy to offensive strikes or moving away.

Aela was in a bad way, and Marcus needed to change that, as quickly as possible. He started running toward them, but didn't have enough magicka left in him for another firebolt. It looked like Krev had the upper hand, and Aela was moments away from poorly blocking an axe slash and being mortally wounded. Her small dagger wasn't built for such close quarters defense. Krev made a huge upward slash with both axes, and knocked Aela's dagger away. Emitting a short barking laugh, she stabbed the pointy end of the left hand axe into Aela's shoulder, keeping her where she was, and raised the right hand axe up high, ready to cleave it into Aela's pretty head.

Then Marcus' dagger flew through the air and planted itself into Krev's shoulder. She roared out in pain, and Aela used the distraction to jump to the side, before pulling the axe out of her shoulder. Krev turned to face Marcus and ran toward him. Marcus, now with only his sword, waited next to the large tanning rack in a guarded stance. Krev made a jumping attack, leaping into the air and brandishing her one remaining axe in both hands. Marcus didn't have it in him to use all three words, but he could manage one.

"Fus!"

The circle of energy slammed into Krev midair, throwing off her balanced leap and giving Marcus a chance to bring his sword up in a double handed block, with one hand on the hilt and one on the end of the blade, supporting it from underneath. The one-handed axe clanged against the steel, the noise ringing through the room. Krev was quick to recover however, and acted upon the fact that Marcus had both his hands raised near his head, and had his legs spread to offer support against the downward attack. She promptly kicked Marcus in the balls. Marcus groaned loudly, and collapsed to his knees. One hand clutching his sword, the other clutching his groin.

Krev chuckled evilly, and hacked her axe at Marcus' shoulder. The sharp blade, and the well-muscled arm behind it bit through the basic chainmail right below the pauldron, and cut into the flesh. Marcus groaned again in pain, and involuntarily dropped his sword. Krev raised the axe and spun it around, so the pointy spike was facing forward, and stabbed Marcus through the chest with it, before pulling it out. The spike was covered in Marcus' crimson blood. He collapsed onto his knees, hunched. Krev raised her axe again to strike Marcus down, for good but there was a flicker of movement behind her.

It was Aela, with her dagger in her one good arm. She stabbed the dagger into back of Krev, who shouted out in pain, then wrenched it out and stabbed it in again. But Krev didn't go down. She still had fight left in her, somehow. She twisted around, and lashed out with her axe, aiming for Aela's midriff. Aela was fast enough to dodge, but her dagger was still stuck in Krev's back, so she was unarmed. Krev kicked Aela full in the stomach with her armored boot, winding Aela and sending her to the ground gasping.

"Filthy dogs!" Krev shouted, limping over to Aela, "You think you can put ME down?! I am above you all!"

Krev bent down and began hitting Aela with her fist and the hilt of her axe.

"You are animals! You are worthy only of the most painful deaths!" Krev continued shouting at Aela, while hitting her.

Marcus could feel his lifeblood seeping through his torso. He could also hear Krev hitting Aela. Marcus looked up through blurry eyes, his vision pulsing red, watching Krev punch Aela in the face over and over again.

He placed a fist against the ground. He raised his knee slightly. Then he pushed with all his might. Marcus slowly, shakily stood up, and stumbled forward. He had no strength to fight, but the wolf within did, and called to be released.

He called upon whatever strength he had left. He embraced the beast within him, welcoming the brief overpowering feeling of carnal strength. Marcus' skin shifted, and changed colour. Fur grew out his entire body, and he began to shift. The wounds in his arm and chest expanded to accommodate his growing size, but the large amounts of developing muscle somewhat 'grew over' these injuries, and slowed their bleeding. Marcus' face re-sculpted itself, and he became a werewolf.

The werewolf roared at the ceiling, then roared at the puny human that had dared injure it. Krev looked up in surprise at the giant werewolf that had suddenly appeared behind her. She made to stand up, but was too slow. The werewolf barreled into her, and sent her flying. Her one remaining axe flew out of her grasp. It lunged at Krev while she was still on the ground. Krev shouted angrily at the beast, as it began tearing at her body with its long sharp claws. Slashes coming from seemingly every direction. Krev's shouts of anger turned to screams of pain, as the werewolf dug its claws deep into her flesh. The wounds on the werewolf were still bleeding but it didn't falter. In another 10 seconds, Krev was silent, and the werewolf howled in triumph. It stood up, and moved toward Aela. It staggered unvoluntarily. The blood loss was taking its toll. It collapsed down next to Aela, and looked at her face. Blood slowly flowed out of the chest wound and from its shoulder.

* * *

Marcus woke up in human form. He glanced around, and saw Aela sitting next to him. Beside her, were two empty healing potions.

"Are you alright?" was Marcus' first words.

"I'd worry more about yourself," Aela replied, "you nearly died. If I hadn't gained consciousness as early as I did and given you those healing potions, you probably would have bled out."

"Oh… Thank you, then." Marcus said quietly. He didn't like how often he brushed with death.

He could remember his time as a werewolf, how savage he'd acted, how… primal he'd felt. A part of him liked it, how liberating it was, but he knew it wasn't something that should be encouraged. He hoped it would stay tied to his werewolf form.

Aela said, "You saved my life Marcus… you're beginning to turn that into a habit, you know."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Aela smiled, a proper smile this time, not a half smile. "I'm sure I can forgive you."

She helped Marcus to his feet, and they began looking for an exit. At the back of the room, they found a very large chest. Inside was several large coin purses, a strange shield made of a strange green metal. It was rather spiky. Beside it was a dagger made of an odd glassy material, with a golden hilt.

Marcus took all the items, slinging the shield over his back. He could take it apart later at a forge and see if he could figure out how to sculpt the metal into something he could attach to his armor. The shield looked very sturdy, and would probably make a good chest plate with a little re-shaping.

"Ismir," Aela muttered a few steps away, "look at this poor sod."

"Hmm?" Marcus said, walking over, and gasped.

There was a body there, lying on the floor, somewhat slumped against the outer wall. It was a horrific sight, because the skin on the entire torso had been peeled off. It's face was also ripped apart, with deep gashes and sections missing. The facial mutilation was so intense, it could have been anyone.

"Divines…" muttered Marcus. It was a horrific sight, the muscle and bone around the chest and face was directly exposed to the air. It was very fresh, by the looks of it, with the wounds being only a few hours old.

 _Strange,_ thought Marcus, _I wonder who could have come through here in the past hour – no…_

The eyes of the body, they were still visible. One was mud brown, the other was completely white.

"No..." Marcus gasped, staggering back and falling onto his knees.

"What is it Marcus?" Aela said, worried.

"It's… it's..." he pointed at the eyes of the body. Aela followed his gaze.

She whispered, "No… it… it can't be."

Marcus' face had gone white, his hands shook. He remembered that fresh looking, smaller skin on the larger tanning rack. The one still covered in blood… Aela's breathing became heavy, her hands clenched and unclenched rapidly.

"The bastards!" she shouted, "they killed Skjor! They… mutilated his body."

Marcus didn't say anything, just staring at the grotesque sight of Skjor's body, his face entirely blank, his eyes hollow. He couldn't stop thinking, he couldn't stop imagining what the man's final moments must have felt like, the sheer agony…

Aela was alternating between angry sobs and shouting curses at every silver hand individual on Nirn, screaming about what she as going to do to them.

Marcus managed to tear his gaze away from the body, and stood up. There was so much blood on the floor… blood didn't flow from corpses for very long, so Skjor must have been at least partially alive when… Marcus closed his eyes tightly, trying to remove the image from his memory, to no avail.

 _What kind of sick piece of shit does this?_ Marcus thought angrily, _who justifies doing this to a sentient creature?_

He moved over to the corpse, and crouched beside it.

"Give me a hand, Aela."

She looked up from her hands, "What?"

Marcus looked up at her, sadness etched into his features, mixed with iron determination.

"We're not leaving him here."

* * *

They laid him to rest a little way away from Gallows Rock, probably about a kilometre away. The chose a nice little hillock, right near the part where the snow gave way to the start of Whiterun's plains. It had a nice view of Whiterun hold, so it was as good as anywhere, really.

The small mound of stones sat at the top of the hill, with Aela and Marcus standing beside it. Neither one had said anything since leaving the silver hand fort. They both stood there for half an hour, not moving, not saying anything. Very little went through Marcus' mind, he wasn't in shock anymore, but he wasn't finding any way to move on.

He'd only known the man for about 2 weeks, but grew to respect him as a competent fighter, teacher and leader. Now he was gone, viciously murdered in a brutal, painful way. Marcus thought back to that sparring match. He'd been hoping to have more lessons, he'd been hoping to get more advice. Such a wealth of knowledge and experience, wasted, never to be seen again. That harsh gravelly voice, the small yet meaningful amounts of praise that it gave, never to be heard again. Marcus breathed out, looking at the ground. His breath fogged in front of his face.

Aela broke the silence, with a few words.

"You and I have work to do," she said quietly but firmly. She looked up at Marcus, "the silver hand will tremble… at our sight."

Marcus looked up from the ground, and matched her stare with a cold, hard gaze. His jaw set, he nodded in affirmation.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Marcus and Aela waged a war of vengeance on the silver hand. All across the Pale, around Windhelm, and the Rift. Marcus saw much of Skyrim, but cared for little of it. He leapt into a total of three forts, cutting down unsuspecting silver hand scum wherever he found them. After clearing out another location, and grabbing any useful information or items, he'd return to Jorrvaskr and speak to Aela. She'd give him a new target, he'd rest the night, then he'd be heading out again in the morning. The first time was simply a quick in-and-out attack, perpetrated during the night, and Aela grew more impressed with Marcus' talents after he returned without even a deep cut. The second time was aimed at gathering intelligence on their movements, so Aela came along too, providing support on the more dangerous of the three missions. The other companions asked why they saw so little of him over the two weeks, and why he usually looked so beaten up whenever they did see him, but Aela allayed such concerns. She spun stories about hunting wild animals, running bandits out of villages, and falling down stairs.

Marcus used every ability at his disposal, sneaking in through the back entrances of forts, cutting throats, drinking enhancement potions, anything he could find or think of. Thu'um flew out of him whenever he had mustered enough strength to use the shouts again, as did magical spells.

His skills grew, through sheer experience. He paid visits to Farengar occasionally, learning some focusing techniques for healing magic outside of combat, and a more powerful fire spell, consisting of a non-stop gout of fire instead of a simple firebolt. The latter spell still needed 'honing' for lack of a better word. Some people managed to learn spells after reading an associated tome, but Marcus didn't have that kind of natural magical aptitude.

His armor also changed, moving away from simple steel to a selection of unique metals and pieces from other armors. The area covering the chest was an alloy Marcus had made with the help of Eorland, made from orcish and steel, and segmented to allow better movement. The shoulder pauldrons were taken from the steel plate armor of a silver hand chief, and the boots were made from both leather and elven greaves. The other parts of the body that the plates of metal didn't protect were covered with a mixture of leather and strips of steel.

Marcus took lessons with Eorland on how to achieve this, sometimes even getting Eorland to assist him directly in the forging, re-shaping, and attaching of the pieces. Eorland saw it more as a learning experience or a challenge, since he told Marcus he'd never seen an armor like this before, with its mix-and-match type of construction. Eorland was also eager to actually contribute to the construction for another reason: the armor was really, really effective. The combination of metals and construction techniques made it an incredibly versatile set. There wasn't really many types of 'medium' armor that Eorland had seen that were this effective, mainly because medium armor consisted of wearing pieces from multiple sets. Marcus' armor effectively was constructed from the ground up using multiple pieces. The use of alloys, was also uncommon due to how complicated and expensive it was to re-do, but Marcus had plenty of money thanks to the silver hand. They acted like bandits whenever they weren't hunting werewolves, attacking anyone unfortunate enough to walk past their forts and camps, so they often had a lot of valuable items inside their quarters.

This just made it all the more easier to justify hunting them down in their holes and caves, not that Marcus really needed extra justification. The armor, his new glass dagger, the spells, the money, it was all just means to an end to make as many of those werewolf-skinning bastards pay for their brutality. If there ever came a time when Marcus was nearly overwhelmed, he simply let the werewolf inside him take over, and then everything would die.

When Aela decided to join him on the second mission, she had supplementing his combat prowess with a flurry of well-placed arrows. She was impressed with how quickly Marcus was learning, taking out the fortified locations one after the other. When she later asked him how he was able to take out 20 or so fighters at a time on his own, in the first and third forts, he responded simply saying:

"I'm not fighting 20 skilled warriors at once, I'm fighting 3 or 4 slightly overfed, overconfident, bandits about 5 times consecutively."

Aela guessed that made sense, as when she joined Marcus in his fights, the silver hand were often split up amongst a series of rooms, but she was still rather amazed at Marcus' tenacious attitude. In a small way, she was also proud that he was avenging Skjor with as much strength as he could muster. She wished the other companions showed the same dedication to Skjor's death. The other members of the circle and the new bloods basically just promised to attack any silver hand if they saw them, not actually going out of their way to hunt down and exterminate them like Marcus was. Aela briefly considered if her actions were in the right spirit, but she dismissed such thoughts. Marcus and her were enacting justice, and punishing brutality, there's nothing to reconsider.

The third time, she had sent him out into a fort to recover a fragment of Wuuthrad. He came back successful, as she suspected he would, but he looked shaken, this time around. As if something he'd seen had shocked him to his core. It was early evening, and most of the companions had gathered around the fire for dinner.

Aela walked up to him, as he leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his face wearily.

"Are you all right Marcus?" she said in a slightly concerned tone.

Marcus didn't answer right away, just breathing out heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah," he mumbled quietly. He waved a dismissive hand in toward her, "I'll tell you about it later, maybe."

He then looked up, and passed her the fragment of Wuuthrad. It glinted in the soft, warm light.  
"Wow..." Aela said, taking in her hand and turning it over, "you actually retrieved another piece..."

Marcus sighed, "Don't sound so disbelieving, or I'll think you're sending me on suicide missions."

Aela shook her head quickly, a worried look on her face, "No! That's not what I was trying to -"

"Aela, it's fine, I was joking..."

"Oh… right."

She turned away and walked toward the centre of the room. "Everyone! Marcus had retrieved another fragment of Wuuthrad!"

There were assorted claps and cheers, with the occasional thump of someone slamming their tankard of mead against the table in a celebratory fashion. Kodlak looked at the two from his seat, his eyes lingering on Marcus. When the noise died down, he spoke out.  
"Where did you get the fragment from, Marcus?"

The tone he used indicated that Kodlak already knew where Marcus had gotten it from, and he fixed the young man with a stern stare. Marcus gulped slightly, Kodlak was like an unforgiving grandfather, you really didn't want to annoy him.  
Marcus said, "I found it in a… bandit… encampment. In the rift."

Marcus nodded to himself, satisfied that his excuse would hold up in regards to the rest of the companions. He'd probably need to talk to Kodlak later though. Marcus walked over and sat down at a spare seat, trying to ignore Kodlak's gaze on him. Marcus didn't understand why the old man was being so judgmental of what he's been doing.

 _It's not as if they're innocent people,_ he thought, _they're all ruthless killers and torturers, why should I feel bad?_

It was morning, and Marcus woke in his bed in Jorrvaskr to find Aela sitting in a chair across from him, eating an apple

"Divines Aela!" he cried, sitting up in his bed suddenly, "have you heard of knocking?"

"I needed to give you a warning."

Marcus frowned, "A warning? About what?"

Aela took another bite of the apple. "Kodlak wanted to see you as soon as possible. I think he knows about what we've been doing."

Marcus nodded, "I got the same impression last night. Why does it seem like he'd displeased?"

Aela shrugged, "Probably because he is."

"But why?"

Aela shrugged again, and gestured with a thumb towards the door. "You better get going, he doesn't like to be kept waiting. Be honest with him, but don't tell him anything he doesn't need to know."

Marcus groaned, and got out of bed. He was wearing a plain pair of brown pants, and moved over to his small pile of clothes and armor in the corner. He looked back at Aela.

"Do you mind?"

Aela blinked, seemingly snapping out of an absent-minded trance, and looked at Marcus' perturbed facial expression.

"Oh! I see."

She stood up and walked out of the room. Marcus made sure to lock the door, before he changed.

Marcus found Kodlak sitting at the same chair he was when Marcus first came to the Companions.

"You wanted to see me?" Marcus asked tentatively.

"Yes my boy, sit down."

Marcus felt like an irresponsible child, about to be scolded for misbehaving. He sat down.

Kodlak said, "You've been busy with Aela, haven't you Marcus?"

"We… we work to avenge Skjor's brutal death."

Kodlak nodded sympathetically, "I know child, all our hearts are heavy with grief." Kodlak turned in his chair and looked at Marcus with a sterner gaze. "But his death was avenged long ago! You've taken more lives than honor demanded. I fear you may have sparked something that leads to… repercussions."

Marcus didn't understand, "But they're all brutal killers! They act like common bandits, robbing travelers and hunting us down."

"And you think that gives you the right to massacre as many of them as you can find? How many of them have never killed a person? How many of them only sought to exterminate the uncontrollable werewolves? Did you just assume they were all the type who would skin a man alive?"

"I… they're all in support of it, at least!"

Kodlak shook his head again, "only because of the stories they've been told. Did you find any werewolf corpses in these forts? Of course you didn't. They haven't been running a crusade against us Marcus, but you've been running one against them..."

Marcus didn't say anything, just looking at his feet. He… he hadn't bothered to think about any of it. What Kodlak was saying made sense. He had no way of knowing how black each man's soul was, or whether their crimes were numerous enough to be deserving of death. He'd just kept killing, taking lives left and right. It had felt so righteous, to Marcus, the wolf inside him was getting the fights it wanted, enjoying the thrill of hunting down prey, while Marcus felt like he was doing the world a favor. And now… now he'd realized perhaps he was too hasty, to put it lightly.

Marcus hung his head in his hands and breathed out. There was another thing he needed to ask Kodlak about.

"Yesterday," he began, "in the Silver Hand fort, I encountered a rather strong fighter."

Kodlak just raised an eyebrow, prompting Marcus to continue.

"He was tougher than any of the other Silver Hand I'd fought that day, and he… he cut me up pretty badly."

Kodlak looked Marcus up and down, "I don't see any wounds on you right now?"

Marcus nodded, "I'm getting to that. As a sort of last resort, I turned into a werewolf, embracing my beast form. It was enough to bring the man down, but I was still in a very bad way… very hurt and wounded."

Marcus took a deep breath before continuing. "I… I ate the man… I tore open his chest cavity and feasted on the heart and flesh… I… I actually ate someone's heart."

Marcus shook his head at the floor, hardly believing the words that had come out of his mouth. He wished they weren't true, that he could somehow say that the werewolf wasn't acting how Marcus would want it to… but it seemed like Marcus and the werewolf he became were actually the same, only with a slightly different outlook on the world.

In his werewolf form, Marcus had seen the act of eating the corpse as necessary for survival, and thus he could justify it in a pure animalistic survival sense, to heal his wounds, but now that he was back in human form, away from danger, the very concept horrified him.

Kodlak placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder, "It's ok lad… we all do what we must to survive, it's what fosters the greatest skill in battle. I won't lie and pretend that what you did is ok, but remember that it'll only change you deeply, if you let it."

"How… How do I stop this from happening again?"

Kodlak breathed out, "Practice, my boy, learn as many new skills and talents as you can, so that you never need to rely on the contingency plans."

"Contingency plan?" Marcus frowned. He hadn't heard that word before.

"The last resort, the final, last-ditch effort. A contingency plan is what you put into action after plan A, B, and C have all failed, and you have nothing left. They're brutal and reckless, so make sure you have enough skill and strength to stand and fight long after your enemy has fallen. Eating that corpse was the beast's contingency plan."

Marcus looked at his feet, his boots dirty and encased in steel plates. Kodlak was right, as usual.

Marcus groaned, "I just can't shake the sick, disgusted feeling within me. You make it sound like a tragic necessity… What am I to become if I just 'accept' eating someone's corpse?"

Kodlak sighed, "I don't have all the answers Marcus… I think that if you don't want to go down such a path with a strong enough desire… you won't."

"What if I die from my choices? What if it is necessary, as much as it pains me to say it?"

"It's unlikely… but in any event, would that be so bad? Dying valiantly while upholding your ideals?"

Marcus held his head in his hands, glancing sideways at the old man, "I don't want to die for ideals, not this soon anyway, I'm not… I'm not done yet."

"No doubt, you haven't truly discovered your place in the dragon crisis yet, beyond the obvious."

"Not just that… I need to prove something. I need to earn… something."

Kodlak raised an eyebrow, unsure as to what exactly Marcus was talking about, but he had a rough guess.

Kodlak placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder, and looked him in the eyes, "You're a good lad, and I have no doubt you'll find what you're looking for. You're more than the raging dragon, more than the angry wolf… you are Marcus, and I know that he won't fail, or let us down."

Marcus looked back gratefully, "Thank you, Kodlak."

The old man straightened in his chair, and rubbed his knee.

"I asked you here for another reason though, I've found a way to cure myself of my beast blood."

"I didn't realize that was possible, was it?"

Kodlak shook his head, "I didn't think so until yesterday. Remember how I told you about those hagraven witches that tricked the companions of old? A traveller passed word to us of their whereabouts. They're called the glenmoril coven in Falkreath. If you find them, and bring back the seats of their power, the heads, I can figure out how to undo their curse."

Marcus thought hard, already planning out a route, "You want me to go there soon?"

Kodlak nodded, "I'd go myself, but I'll need to stay here and have a good long chat with Aela. Her thirst for vengeance will be harder to remove than yours. Plus she's awfully stubborn at the best of times, not very willing to admit her mistakes."

"Alright, I'll get going as soon as possible."

Marcus stood up and walked off, eager to do something that would actually help someone, rather than kill them. He'd been doing far too much of that lately. He was becoming desensitized to the act of taking a life. Not that it was something he shouldn't do again, Marcus figured that killing was just going to be a necessary thing in his life, but that doesn't mean he should go out of his way to kill things.

He thought about how to get to Falkreath. A carriage would probably be the best option, to cover the distance, as long as he didn't get ambushed by bandits. He'd need to get a few potions however, as glenmoril witches most likely weren't to be trifled with. Marcus remembered he had a few in Breezehome, so he should stop by there on his way out of Whiterun.

Marcus opened the door to Breezehome, and stepped inside. Once he closed it behind him, and had a good look inside, he started abruptly. Sitting on a chair in front of the fireplace, was Lydia. She had been released from the temple's care, evidently. She was dozing, it seemed, lying back in the chair with her eyes closed and her breathing heavy. She looked so peaceful, just lying there, so… safe. Marcus immediately felt guilty. In the past few weeks, he hadn't taken any time to see her, he'd been mostly out of Whiterun, crusading around Skyrim, killing people. He couldn't help but wonder what Lydia would say to him, if she knew. He shook his head, he really, really shouldn't have just gone along so willingly with Aela's plans. But he knew she couldn't be blamed entirely, or even mostly.

Marcus didn't know what to say to Lydia, he couldn't think of how he could ask her to forgive him for what happened with the giants, or how he could tell her about the events that had transpired since she'd been badly injured.

He could imagine it now, how she'd react: "Hey Lydia, I'm a heart-eating werewolf now! Aren't you happy?"

He didn't see how he could tell her, or if he should. He didn't want to lose such a close friend. While Marcus stood there, Lydia stirred. She opened her eyes and laid them on him. Marcus didn't know how to react.

"Um… hey Lydia..." he said weakly.

Lydia stared at him for a second that seemed to last an eternity. Then she jumped up and threw herself into his arms. She held him tightly, burying her face into his shoulder. She breathed out heavily multiple times while holding him, clutching at him as if to let him go would mean he'd vanish forever. Marcus sensed the cold, wet feeling of tears where her eyes were, pressed into the side of his neck.

Why was she crying? Why was she acting so… heartfelt?

"Lydia…?" Marcus said quietly, unsure what to do. Eventually, he simply wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back. Regardless, he was glad to see her. After a while, Lydia found within herself the strength to speak.

"The… the priestesses at the temple told me about what you did to save me, how you killed the giant while already wounded, healed me as best you could, and sprinted all the way into Whiterun, carrying me the whole time while you were badly injured yourself. You… saved my life."

 _Really?_ Marcus thought, _that's why she was all upset and emotional?_

Marcus smiled, "Of course I did, why wouldn't I?"

Lydia finally let go, and wiped her eyes, smiling back at him "You're making me look bad, risking your life to save your housecarl."

"I risked my life to save a friend, Lydia, not a housecarl."

Lydia looked at her feet, feeling unworthy and sheepish. Marcus walked over and sat in one of the seats near the fireplace, gesturing for her to sit in the one opposite.

"What have you been doing for the past few weeks?" she asked, taking control of her cascading emotions, eager to make up for lost time and figure out how she could help her thane in whatever task he had.

"Oh… uh…" Marcus wasn't quite sure how much he should tell her, "I've been doing some things for the companions… I'm… I've been fighting… 'bandits' across this hold, and the rift."

"Wow," Lydia said, smiling sarcastically, "so you've been keeping out of dangerous situations?"

"Well, I haven't fought any dragons, so in a sense, I've been keeping out of all the super dangerous situations."

"I see…" she mused, "did you do all this alone?"

"Mostly."

Lydia smiled and shook her head. On any other day, she would have reprimanded Marcus for fighting bandits across Skyrim with no-one watching his back, but on this day she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd missed him a lot, lying in that bed at the temple. She'd been a bit upset that he hadn't visited her in the later stages of her recovery, but she realized now that he'd been very busy.

Marcus himself decided not to mention the werewolf stuff, or the revenge stuff, or the heart-eating stuff. Definitely not the latter.

"So..." Lydia said, in a 'let's get to work' tone, "what's your current mission? Knowing you, I bet you haven't decided to take a week or so off adventuring."

"Oh, Kodlak, the harbinger of the companions, has asked me to go wipe out a coven of witches."

"Why?"

"Umm..." Marcus again, didn't know if he should tell Lydia the whole truth, the fact that the circle were werewolves was a closely guarded secret. "Because they've cursed a group of farmers, and we need to kill them and bring back their heads in order to remove the curse."

Lydia frowned, "They sound quite dangerous."

He nodded, "They are, at least in a non-confrontational way. I'm not sure how well they're combat prowess is."

Lydia rubbed her chin thoughtfully, then nodded in a committal way.

"Well, that settles it, I'll come with you."

"What!?" Marcus cried incredulously, "so I can watch you nearly die again? No thanks! You'll stay right here, where you won't be hurt."

Images of Lydia burning from fire magic flashed through Marcus' head. He couldn't put her in harms way, he didn't know if their luck would hold up next time they were in a sticky situation.

But Lydia was steadfast in her decision, "Marcus, the temple released me in perfect condition, I'm entirely healed. You know as well as I do how they don't like to let you out until their certain you're back to full health. If you don't think I'm ready to come with you now, then I'll never be ready."

"well… I mean," Marcus tilted his head and shrugged, an unspoken 'would that be so bad?' resonated throughout the room.

Lydia sighed, "Marcus… please… I'll be more careful. We both will. I've been itching to go out and do something exciting for weeks."

Marcus looked away from Lydia, and stared into the fireplace, with its glowing embers. He could feel the heat on his face, and he could feel Lydia's eyes on him, her gaze unwavering.

"I don't know..." he said quietly.

Lydia stood up, and walked over to Marcus' chair. She knelt down in front of him, and clasped his hands in hers, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "None of us can promise anything for certain, but I firmly believe I'll never put you in that same situation again, as what happened on the plains… I don't want to stay in this house for the rest of my life, or your life for that matter. I want to do this with you Marcus, if you'll have me..."

Marcus gazed into Lydia's cool blue eyes, glad that the blushing on his cheeks could be explained away by the heat from the embers in the fire. He wanted to look away, to break the emotional undercurrents to the moment, to lessen the… intimacy? At the same time however, he wanted to stay where he was, and keeping looking into those eyes of hers.

Marcus reached a decision. He sighed, and said, "Ok, you can come with me."

Lydia wrapped her arms around Marcus' neck and they each brought their faces closer together. Marcus heart raced for a second: he thought she was going to kiss him. However, she simply pulled him into a tight hug, and Marcus couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, deep down.

"Thank you, Marcus," Lydia said warmly.

"… You're welcome."

His grip around her tightened instinctively, and she smiled happily. It was good to be back.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Dag nabbit, here I am trying to foster a relationship between Marcus and Aela, and I go and create an intimate moment between Marcus and Lydia… I dunno how that happened... Out of the two, I'm totally on team Lydia. Aela is alright, and Marcus will get his own somewhat intimate moment with her next chapter, but if I had to choose, I'd go for the pretty battlemaiden over the fiery archer. Nonetheless, Marcus won't be choosing either. My vision of a man surrounded by attractive females with which he maintains platonic relationships, for their sake and that of the world, remains steadfast.**

 **Just thought I'd clear up some aesthetic stuff here, the armor Marcus is wearing will always look basically like the nordic adventurer set, without the accessories or helmet. When I describe a new feature, just imagine the selected segment of the NA armor with a new colour on it, depending on the type of armor I'm integrating into it, in 'alloy' form or in a sort of 'cut up and sewed on' form, and maybe a slightly different shape. I won't deviate too far from the look of the standard set, I just want to justify him having some some better equipment, while increasing Marcus' smithing skill at the same time.**

 **PM/Review if you have questions/comments. I have no life so I'll be sure to answer them.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	9. Chapter 9

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 8 – Reforging Honor

Marcus and Lydia were walking up the overgrown path to where they assumed the Glenmoril Coven was holed up. They were roughly in the right spot, judging from what the guards in Falkreath had told them. The path hadn't been used in a long time, which meant they witches either didn't get out very often, or they were all dead.

 _Will the heads still work if they're already dead?_ Marcus thought for a moment, then realised the stupidity of what just went through his head, _of course it'll work if they're dead… how the hell am I going to remove the head otherwise? God I'm an idiot…_

"You ok Marcus?" Lydia asked, wondering why he'd stopped in the path.

He mumbled, "Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm all good."

He started walking again, passing Lydia and forging onward up the path. He wondered briefly about what he was going to do in regards to taking out the glenmoril witches. The people in Falkreath said they were much like Hagravens, which didn't bode well. Marcus remembered his last encounter with a Hagraven. It ended up with Lydia getting hurt.

He glanced sideways at her as they walked. He knew it wasn't really his place to decide her fate… that was her decision. However, because of their relationship as a housecarl, and a thane, she felt that sense of duty to protect him, which was unfortunate because it seemed like Marcus was probably that hardest person in Skyrim to protect. His life just kept taking turns down the dangerous paths, with each road being paved with more and more corpses. For better or for worse, he couldn't decide. He hoped he wouldn't get desensitized to the whole thing, and that he'd keep himself sane, but there was no way of knowing.

He breathed out heavily.

"What's wrong, Marcus?" Lydia asked in a concerned tone.

He looked at her, a tired smile on his face, "Long walks tend to trigger introspection, don't worry about it."

He then looked forward and kept walking, leaving Lydia with a worried look on her face.

They kept moving, with Marcus' head twitching from side to side whenever a faint rustle was heard, or when some bird fluttered away from a tree. Lydia watched him with a curious gaze. He seemed more... alert, or on edge, rather. Not to mention his facial hair seemed much more… rugged and overgrown. This was odd, because in the time she'd been with Marcus before, he'd made sure he groomed himself fairly regularly.

"You seem different Marcus," she said.

"I… In what way?" he responded warily, looking across at her. He didn't know the undercurrents of his wolfish personality where that obvious.

"Well," she said, "your eyes look different, more yellowed, and you've let your stubble grow out more. Plus you seem a little… tense. Kinda like my mother's cat before it pounced on something."

"I… I guess I've just been really busy lately, so I've let myself go. Maybe I need more rest or something."

Marcus quickly quickened his pace, moving ahead and indicating that the conversation was over. Lydia knew he was hiding something, given by the blatant flustered look he got when she asked him, but she also knew not to push him for answers. He'd tell her in his own time, if he felt he needed to.

After another 30 minutes of silent traveling, they came across the entrance to the cave. It looked like any other cave Marcus had seen, except this one had goat heads mounted on spikes out the front of it. There were a couple human skulls too, here and there.

"Think this is the place?" Lydia said, slightly put off by the gruesome display.

Marcus scratched the back of his head, looking at the things stuck on spikes around the cave entrance. "Well, its either full of the things we need to kill, or things we should kill."

"… I don't doubt that."

They moved inside, crouched down and careful. The first segment of the cave was just a long tunnel. Their hair brushed against the rocky ceiling, it was so low. A quiet 'thunk' was heard, followed by Marcus' muffled curse. He was about a centimetre or two taller than Lydia, it seemed. The two moved on, Marcus rubbing his head, until they came to a large clearing. It was dimly lit, with a small amount of light leaking in through cracks in the ceiling leading off to the outside world. Lydia made a move to go forward, when she was stopped by Marcus outstretched hand, reaching across her chest and pulling her back. She took a breath about to ask what the problem was, when his finger was pressed up against her lips, and his other hand pointed toward the back of the clearing. It was hard to see past the light pooling in the middle of the cavern, but Lydia could see some hints of movement.

"Hagraven." Marcus whispered.

Lydia frowned, "How could you see that? It's really dark over there."

Marcus didn't answer right away. "I caught a glimpse," was his eventual response, and he moved down into the clearing, staying low. He was finding it harder and harder to hide the fact that he was a werewolf from Lydia. She knew him too well, and it wasn't really as if he spent much time with anyone else. He stuck to the shadows, skirting around the side of the beams of light coming down from the ceiling. The hagraven was searching a random corpse on the floor, some unfortunate adventurer by the looks of him. It had its back to him.  
Marcus knew he probably couldn't sneak up behind it. The sound of steel and metal on leather from his armour would give him away. He made a hand gesture to let Lydia know to move up behind him. As she got closer, he gestured for her to use her bow. As she nocked the arrow, Marcus got within 10 metres of the hagraven. As he heard the 'twang' of the arrow, he lit up his left hand with fire, and unleashed it in a constant gout at the hagraven. The arrow slammed between the beast's shoulder blades, as Marcus' fire spell engulfed it. It screeched in alarm, and leapt up. It focused Marcus, the closer and more present threat.

It responded to his fire spell with one of its own. The fireball flashed toward Marcus, who extinguished the fire in his hand, and attempted to jump to the side. The fireball never hit him through, it hit the ground next to him and exploded violently. Marcus felt a blast of searing heat on the unprotected parts of his body, and was thrown off his feet, landing 2 metres away. As he staggered to his feet, his face burning with pain, he hoped his eyebrows were still there. Another arrow sailed through the air and slammed into the seared flesh of the hagraven's torso. The beast staggered, but didn't go down. It turned to face Lydia, charging up another fireball in its hand. Marcus saw the threat and immediately rushed to his feet, drawing his sword and dagger while running.

He wasn't fast enough, and the hagraven threw the fireball at Lydia. She had seen it's attack on Marcus however, and was prepared. She tossed aside her bow and dived to the side, rolling as she hit the ground to cover more distance. Again, the fireball exploded when it hit the dirt, but Lydia was safely out of it's blast radius. The hagraven screeched in annoyance when it saw its attack had been dodged, and turned to face the charging figure to its left. Fire began building up in its hand again, and the hag slowly raised it up to fire at Marcus once again.

Marcus was much too close however, and was able to act in retaliation. Twisting to the right, he stepped diagonally left toward the hagraven, and brought his sword down to his left, his hand near his hip. Now he was facing the hagraven's outstretched arm from the side. With a fast upward sweeping cut, Marcus cut off the hagraven's bony hand at the wrist, cancelling the fire spell, and earning a pained scream from the ugly thing. It staggered back clutching the stump where its hand used to be. Marcus took a step toward it.

It glared daggers at him. "One of the beasts returns… Hircine owns you, dog."

Marcus didn't gift the creature with a response, and took another step toward the creature, bringing it within sword's reach. It lashed out with its one good clawed hand, but Marcus parried it aside with his sword, the sharp steel easily matching the long, bony nails. He then took one step closer, and rammed his glass dagger into the Hagraven's neck. It gurgled briefly, glaring at him with pure hatred, before the light behind its eyes faded, and it slumped.

Marcus breathed out, and quickly checked around him. There were no other visible threats, but their conflict was no doubt heard by the other witches.

"They know we're here," Marcus called back to Lydia, "so be wary."

Lydia ran up, "Ok, I will. What was that stuff it said about hircine and beasts?"

"Um… I don't know."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She made a mental note to grill him for answers once this was all over. Something was definitely off with him, and she wanted to know what it was.

Marcus moved over to the corpse of the dead adventurer, and knelt down to examine him. He was young, very young, by the looks of him. Probably about a year younger than Marcus, making him 20. Definitely too young to die, especially to something as horrid as the glenmoril witches. He was probably just a young man eager to experience a life outside of a farm, hankering for excitement and the possibility of wealth, but got rewarded for his idealistic optimism with death. Marcus breathed out a sigh. He was going to make sure those witches wouldn't do this again.

He stood up, and scanned the cavern. Apart from the tunnel they had entered from, there was only one other way to go, another tunnel that seemed to slope down.

"Let's go," he said to Lydia, "We'll come back and cut the thing's head off later."

They moved onward, further down the opposite tunnel. It got dark fairly quickly, now that the only light source was behind them, and another 'thunk' was heard as Marcus hit a lowered lump in the ceiling that he couldn't see.

"Son of a…" he muttered rubbing his forehead. He'd have to start wearing a helmet.

Up ahead, they began to see the glimpse of light. They crouched down again, and moved forward slower. As they kept moving, the light got brighter and brighter. It wasn't the soft pale light of the outside sun, it was the warm yellow light of fire. They got to a final corner, and Marcus peeked around it. Ahead, he saw another large cavern, slightly smaller than the first, filled with torches and a small campfire. There were a couple large stalagmites across the floor, some being higher than a person. There was a large altar in the middle, surrounded by no less than three hagravens. Each hagraven had their eyes fixed on the tunnel, and locked eyes with Marcus. They had been waiting for him, waiting to see if he had actually bested the first hagraven.

"Sisters!" the larger one in the middle screeched, "a beast has returned for blood! Greet it in kind!"

"Lydia!" Marcus shouted, "get out of the tunnel!"

They both sprinted out of the tunnel, into the larger room, just as the space they were in filled with fire as the three hagravens launched fireballs at them. They slammed their backs against one of the largest stalagmites, and used it for cover. Another volley of fireballs from the three witches slammed into the rock, and it shook violently, threatening to blow apart. Marcus knew their cover wouldn't last much longer, and he doubted the witches would run out of magicka anytime soon. There was an open space between them and the altar. Running out into the open would be like running into the jaws of death, with the hags at the ready.

In a fairly open space, with very little cover, Marcus doubted they'd be able to close the distance, stay away from the fireballs, and avoid the blast radius' of said fireballs all at the same time. A slight delay would result in the hagraven's following up with even more fireballs, and they'd inevitably be kileld. Even if they could get close enough to strike at them, there was no way he could cut apart three hagravens at the same time. One of them would land a deep cut at their backs, and it'd all be over.

As another volley of fireballs shook the stalagmite, Marcus' mind raced. He glanced quickly across at Lydia, who was readying her shield on her arm and preparing herself. He didn't want her to get hurt again… he couldn't let her get hurt again. Even if she suffered but a simple scratch on her shoulder because of his decision to let her come with him, he'd feel absolutely horrible. Against three hagravens… he wasn't sure they'd make it through this alive as they were, let alone without being seriously harmed.

Lydia looked over at him, worry etched into her face. She didn't like their odds, clearly. He locked eyes with her, and memories of them staring back lifelessly flashed through his mind. A plan began to form in Marcus' mind, one that fulfilled his criteria of getting himself and her out alive, but it certainly wasn't perfect… by any means. He checked over his shoulder, peeking out and scanning the room quickly. The witches were still in the same spot, behind the altar.

Another blast of fireballs rocked the stalagmite, and bits of it began crumbling away at the edges. One more blast and they'd be exposed. Marcus leaned over to Lydia and locked eyes with her.

"As they fire again, sprint for the far wall!" he said firmly, pointing over at the other side, where a large rock was seen, "don't stop moving, at all! If you think you can, break for the tunnel and get out."

Lydia looked back at him, "What are you going to do?" she exclaimed, confusion and fear on her face.

"Trust me," was all he said.

A screech was heard, and fire flew through the air.

Marcus was on his feet instantly, just as the fireballs hit the stalagmite and blew it apart. Hoping Lydia was doing as he said, he broke into a sprint at the hagravens. As more fire flew towards him, he opened his mouth.

"Fye!"

His form turned transparent, and the fireballs sailed through him, exploding on the far wall. The hags screeched in surprise at his sudden imperviousness to their attacks. Behind him, Lydia had made it to a waist-high rock on the other side of the cavern. She watched in horror as Marcus charged straight at the hagravens, not even drawing his sword, who were readying their long, razor-sharp claws, and getting into a position where no matter who Marcus attacked, one of them would be able to strike at him from behind.. Lydia's small mouth shaped into a silent "no" as she watched Marcus sprint at the three deadly beasts that would surely mean cause demise.

Then everything changed, and the werewolf roared as it landed on the three witches.

The hagravens screamed in terror as the magnitude of their situation hit, just before Marcus' own razor sharp claw hit them. He raked long, savage cuts across their scrawny bodies, causing more ragged screams. They scratched back at him, drawing deep cuts of their own and drawing blood, but the werewolf was much better suited to close quarters. It pounced onto the largest hagraven, ignoring the scratches it dug into the wolf's arms, and dug its claws into its neck then ripped them out again, tearing the flesh apart.

The second hagraven scratched several deep cuts into the wolf's back, so it promptly spun around and grabbed the witch by the neck between its large hands, and with a twist of it's powerful shoulders, there werewolf snapped the hag's neck. The third and final hagraven tried to move backward, gaining distance from the threat, and readying a fireball in its least-slashed hand. The wolf saw the witch's plan, and promptly picked up the corpse of one of it's sisters and threw it in an instant. The witch staggered back as the body of its sister hit it in the chest, and the wolf was on it instantly, grabbing it and sinking its teeth into the neck, before tearing back violently, biting out the half the hagraven's throat.

Then all was silence, and the werewolf dropped the last corpse.

Lydia slowly walked up behind the wolf. It didn't turn, just kept breathing heavily and staring at the ground. She stopped when she was a few metres from its heaving chest.

"M… Marcus?" she said softly.

The beast turned its head, and looked at her out the corner of its eyes. It then turned its whole body, and stared her right in the eyes. Lydia took a step back subconsciously, caution and small amounts of fear in her eyes. The beast looked feral, blood dripping from its mouth, and a crazed look in its yellow eyes. The wolf looked indifferent. It grunted and stormed past her, walking off into the tunnel and dragging the corpses of the hagravens behind it. Lydia just stood there for a while, staring at the space the werewolf had previously occupied. Dots were connected in her mind, and everything began to make sense. The on-edge stature, the night-vision, the hair growth, it all came together. After about 15 minutes of standing there and thinking, she turned and headed out the tunnel.

Marcus was waiting for her outside the cave, sitting on a rock, in human form. A bag was next to him, containing presumably the heads of the 4 dead glenmoril witches. He looked up at Lydia as she emerged from the entrance to the cave, but quickly looked down, shamefaced. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what words would make the truth less… shocking.

Marcus knew his reasons for becoming a werewolf were based off good intentions, but he doubted Lydia would approve nonetheless. Such beasts had a very bad history. Not to mention that now, he'd have to tell her in full about the events that occurred over the last few weeks. Marcus didn't want to lose her approval, as she was his closest friend, but he still wanted to protect her.

Regardless, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold anything back from her now. She simply wouldn't let him, and he never could lie very effectively when under the gaze of those big blue eyes.

Lydia was still looking at him, an expression on her face that Marcus couldn't decipher. Eventually she took a deep breath, and spoke.

"You should have told me."

Marcus looked up at her, with concerened eyes. "I'm sorry, I really am, but I… I didn't know how you'd react."

"So you opted instead to never tell me? To keep me in the dark that you're a plaything of hircine?"

Marcus shook his head, "I'm nobody's plaything Lydia, I'm completely under control when I'm in that form, it's just rather… savage looking."

They both knew this wasn't entirely true. The indifferent, savage brutality of the beast spoke volumes.

"How did this happen?" Lydia said worried.

Marcus sighed, "The companions… all members of the inner circle are werewolves. It's said to be a gift to grant us better prowess."

Lydia shook her head, exasperated, and walked over to the edge of the path that lead down the mountain. She looked out over the treetops blanketing Falkreath.

Marcus slipped off the rock and walked over to her.

"I'm still me, Lydia, it's just used for dangerous circumstances like what we were just in… I wouldn't have survived these past few weeks if I didn't have this ability."

She turned and looked him in the eyes, "Do you know that for certain? Are you absolutely sure there was no other way you could have resolved those situations, both in that cave and these past few weeks? Are you positive?"

Marcus didn't answer. Looking at his feet.

Lydia continued, "I don't want you to become some savage hunter that seeks out violence and death for the sake of it, Marcus. For some misguided concept of becoming an apex predator…"

"I don't know if that's what will happen, Lydia. I've been fine… for the most part."

Lydia turned away and looked back over the forest canopy. "I trust your judgement Marcus, and at the end of the day it was your choice. Just… promise me that you'll do your best to remain the man you truly are."

Marcus looked down at his feet. No person stays the same forever. And he really, really didn't like promises. Not to mention, he was fairly sure the man he truly was, wasn't much better than the raging beast.

He sighed, and breathed out, "I can't promise I'll never change, but I will do my best to be the best person I can. You can count on that."

"… Very well, I suppose that's all I can hope for."

Marcus began walking down the hill, and Lydia followed. After a few metres, he looked back.

"You should probably hear the whole story about these past few weeks, as well."

She raised an eyebrow, and waited for him to continue.

* * *

It took both the walk back to Falkreath and the carriage ride to explain in their entirety the last 2 week's events. Lydia certainly didn't like the whole crusade for revenge, but she said she understood, as long as it was all behind him. Marcus said emphatically that indeed, it was. As the carriage stopped outside Whiterun, and the two stepped off, a courier ran up to Marcus.

"Got something I'm supposed to deliver," he said, in an indicative way.

"Really?" Marcus said, raising his eyebrows.

The courier frowned at Marcus' quip, but handed over the letter and didn't say anything. As the courier walked off, Marcus opened the letter and gave it a read.

"Huh, it's from Ralof."

Lydia looked over, "Ralof? What did it say?"

"You know him?" Marcus asked, curious.

"We were childhood friends, I haven't seen much of him lately."

Marcus nodded, understanding. Whiterun hold didn't have a very large population, so that made sense.

Marcus gestured to the letter, "I met him in Helgen, we escaped together. He's basically just telling me that he's headed off to Windhelm. Rejoining the army and all. Apparently Hadvar did the same thing a week ago, heading to Solitude for the legion."

Marcus handed the letter to Lydia and sighed. He hoped he'd actually end up seeing the two people again. He didn't have a whole lot of friends, and didn't want to lose them in a civil war.

"Something wrong?" Lydia asked, looking across at his troubled expression.

"Nothing's wrong with me, just with this province. Civil wars are the worst, because they tear apart friends and family, like Ralof and Hadvar."

Lydia looked away, and sighed, nodding in agreement. "I know… I hope they don't end up meeting each other on the battlefield."

Marcus hummed in agreement, and kept moving toward the gates of Whiterun. Once inside, he passed the bag containing the heads to Lydia.

"Go put that behind the house somewhere," he said, pointing toward Breezehome, "I'll be back soon to grab them."

Lydia nodded and moved off, and Marcus made straight for Jorrvaskr, eager to tell Kodlak what he'd done, eager to reclaim some of the honor he'd lost after massacring dozens of silver hand. He briefly wondered what the process of removing the beast blood would entail, and if anyone could do it. Marcus looked up at the new gildergreen as he passed, it was about the size of a bush at this point, not growing very fast, but still growing nonetheless. Drawing his eyes back down, he saw a large crowd gathered outside the steps leading to Jorrvaskr. Frowning, he gently pushed his way through the crowd.

There lying at the bottom of the steps, were the bodies of three silver hand members, with another three scattered further up. Both Aela and Torvar were standing outside, weapons drawn.

Torvar said, "The silver hand, they finally had the courage to attack Jorrvaskr. We got these ones, but many of them slipped past."

Marcus didn't even say anything, he just sprinted up the steps, three at a time, and burst into Jorrvaskr. As soon as he was through the door, he was grabbed by Vilkas, who slammed him against the door and stared him in the eyes.

"Where have you been?" Vilkas said in a low, dangerous tone.

Marcus stared back with wide, concerned eyes, "I was doing Kodlak's bidding, in Falkreath..."

Vilkas let go of Marcus, and took a step back, "I hope it was important, because it means you weren't here to help defend him..."

Marcus frowned, worry began etching itself onto his face. "What… what are you taking about?"

Vilkas didn't respond, he just stood aside, removing himself from Marcus' line of sight into the room. There was many silver hand bodies scattered about, but in the centre was a familiar person. There, lying motionless on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding him, was Kodlak.

Kodlak. The wise, gentle old man. Dead.

"No..." Marcus whispered quietly, holding his head in his hands.

He took a few staggered steps toward the body, surrounded by Ria, Njada, Athis, and Farkas. They all looked at the old man's still, unmoving face with sorrow. Marcus collapsed to his knees next to the body, and stared down at it.

Another dead friend, and this time it hurt so, so much more. Kodlak, the father-like figure that had comforted Marcus in his time of need. The man who had steered Marcus away from a violent crusade, who had told him what he needed to hear to believe in himself. The man who had disregarded the advice of his peers and allowed Marcus to be a part of a family again. The man who had been there when Marcus needed someone to confide in, who had trained with him several times. The man who seemed to see past the competitiveness and overconfidence of every other companion.

But it also hurt more because Marcus knew he had caused this. It was all, his fault. It was Marcus who had gone on a massive rampage throughout Skyrim, killing unprepared silver hand members in camps and forts. It was Marcus who left no survivors, who simply just gave in to the raging, angry wolf within and gave the silver hand such a bad black eye they felt honor-bound to retaliate. Just like how Marcus thought what he was doing was honorable, the silver hand no doubt felt a surge of pride as they ran that sword through Kodlak's heart.

"Was anyone else hurt?" Marcus asked in a quiet voice.

Vilkas shook his head, "No, but they made off with our fragments of Wuuthrad as well."

Marcus looked up, searching Vilkas' eyes for anything else, some piece of good news, but the man had nothing. The silver hand had added insult to injury, salt to a wound. Stealing the treasured artifacts of the companions, after slaughtering their leader?

Vilkas pulled the almost teary-eyed Marcus to his feet, "Get yourself in order, and help prepare for Kodlak's funeral, I'm going to retrieve the fragments, alone."

"You're heading out alone? Are you nuts?" Marcus stared out at Vilkas, his vision of the man blurred through the abundance of water in his eyes.

Vilkas grabbed a greatsword off the wall, and strode past Marcus. "I am bringing the fight to their chief camp, and I will leave none to their stories. After today, only stories of Jorrvaskr will be told…"

Marcus' voice behind him spoke again.

"Do you know where to go?"

"Yes, I do. If I don't come back, don't come looking. I shall see to it personally, for Kodlak and for the security of the companion's future..."

Vilkas made for the door, but was stopped when Marcus put a hand on his shoulder and pulled the man back.

"No… you won't."

Vilkas turned to see Marcus standing right behind him, his eyes no longer wet and sparkling, but cold and steely.

"You won't see to it personally… I'm coming with you."

* * *

They arrived at the place. Driftshade Refuge. No doubt it's name alluded to some previous owner or creator, something no longer applicable. Marcus couldn't see any driftwood or shade around, just snow and rock. Not that he cared.

Vilkas was beside him, and the two walked up to the main entrance. Vilkas unsheathed his greatword.

Marcus said, "You know they'll be waiting for us..."

"I do."

"You know they'll be keeping their toughest warriors here..."

"I do."

Marcus looked down at his feet, and drew his weapons.

Vilkas said, "You having second thoughts?"

Marcus sighed, and shook his head, "No, I'm not. But… I can't help but feel this is more of what caused Kodlak to die in the first place."

"I know, but at this point, we can't do anything about it. They won't stop until we're gone, so we can't stop until they are."

Marcus kicked some snow around his foot. "Kodlak wouldn't want it this way."

"I know, Marcus, but I think the companions being hunted is something he'd want less."

Marcus looked over at the entrance to the underground base, then up at the sky, complete with snowflakes drifting lazily down.

"You know, I thought that when I joined the companions, I'd become more honorable. Turns out just killing things doesn't actually do that, nor does learning how to kill things better. It turns out we were all just slaves to our emotions, linking our hearts to our sword-arm, and more have suffered for it."

Vilkas walked up to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I know, our path is darker than it ever should have been. We've confused what we feel, with something that's real, we've confused our duty with our own wishes. I promise you, after this dark day, it will be different."

The two men turned, and began walking toward the entrance to the fort. As Vilkas went inside, Marcus turned and looked back outside.

He whispered to himself, "After this dark day, it will be different."

Marcus and Vilkas made it through the majority of the fort without too much resistance, fighting past no more than 4 sentries and a pair of drunken orcs. Vilkas got a small cut on his wrist, and Marcus got a bad hammer wound on his chest that he had to use a healing potion to take care of. Eventually they came to a set of double doors, and they could hear the clink of armour and steel being prepared on the other side. The silver hand were in there, and they were ready for them.

Vilkas looked over at Marcus, and nodded at him, "You ready?"

Marcus responded with a nod of his own.

Marcus stood directly in front of the doors' middle, and took a deep breath, channeling his desperation, his frustration, his anger at himself, into his next three words.

"Fus… RO DAH!"

And the doors blew apart, flying into the large room. The two companions burst in, meeting the readied silver hand on the other side in a wordless roar. There was 10 in the room, with one of them already stuck beneath one of the large wooden doors. The other 9 rushed at Marcus and Vilkas. The first swung at Marcus, who ducked to the left and spun in a circle, bringing his sword arm up and slashing the silver hand across the throat. The second and third silver hand attacked Vilkas at the same time. Vilkas brought his greatword up horizontally in front of his chest, and blocked both overhead blows, before bringing the blade around and slicing both men across the stomach. Three more rushed at Marcus, who saw the incoming blows from three directions, and promptly dove between a gap in their formation, ending up in the centre of a pentagon formed by a total of 5 silver hand.

Realizing he'd exchanged one bad situation for an even worse one, Marcus' mind raced quickly. He dropped both his sword and dagger, then casted fire into both hands. As the 5 men charged him, and just after Vilka's decapitated the sixth on the other side of the room, Marcus held his arms out straight, and splayed open his hands while twirling in a circle. The twin gouts of fire blasted out from Marcus in opposite directions, and hit all 5 silver hand as they ran at him. Some of them were quick enough to duck, but most of them copped a blast of fire full in the face. Three went down screaming, and two staggered back, clutching their burns.

After this particular stunt, Marcus collapsed onto the ground, his vision fading to black, clutching his now throbbing head. Dual casting a fire spell of that magnitude at his level had drained him entirely. The two remaining silver hand had recovered, and advanced on Marcus while he was still moaning incoherently on the floor. As the first of the two approached Marcus, his axe raised above his head and ready to bring it down, a loud 'Whump Whump' noise was heard, and the man was nearly split in two as Vilkas' greatsword flew through the air and carved its way through him. The second man rushed up with a dwarven mace, gripping it in a two handed style, and swung downwards at Marcus.

Sensing the danger coming for him, Marcus instinctively rolled to the right, albeit rather slowly. Instead of striking his chest, the mace slammed against Marcus' left shoulder pauldron, causing both Marcus' collarbone and the metal plate to crack.

The small pointed lumps on the mace dug into Marcus' pauldron, keeping the weapon stuck for a short while. The man grabbed the hilt with both hands and tried to pull it loose quicker. Marcus reached over beside himself, and grabbed his glass dagger in his right hand, he then reached up and stabbed it through both wrists of the silver hand in one stab. The man screamed in pain and stumbled backwards, trying to figure out how to remove something that was literally pinning his wrists together.

Marcus tried to get to his feet, but the broken bones near his neck and shoulder made it incredibly difficult to stand. As he got to his knees, he saw the boots of Vilkas walk past. Vilkas walked up to the silver hand, who was still screaming, and ripped the dagger out, almost cutting off the man's hands, then stabbed it into his neck. The silver hand stopped screaming.

Vilkas went up to Marcus, and helped him get to his feet, the pain in his shoulder was really bad. Marcus pulled out a healing potion, and swallowed it all in one gulp. It would help the pain, and maybe re-align the bone properly for now, but it would need time to fully heal.

"You good?" Vilkas asked.

"Yeah," Marcus muttered, rolling his shoulder and grimacing, "For now."

Marcus walked over to a large table near the centre of the room, and saw the pieces of Wuuthrad lying there. It looked like the Silver Hand had gathered them all here so they could gloat over their victory.

 _Well,_ Marcus thought, _they won't be having any more victories. Ever._

Vilkas swept all the pieces into a bag, then sheathed his greatsword. Marcus picked up his weapons and sheathed them.

"Let's get out of here," Vilkas muttered, "if I ever see another Silver Hand asshole again, it'll be too soon."

Marcus breathed out a sigh, and looked around at the destruction in the room. "Agreed."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Abrupt ending to this chapter, I know, but I needed to get it out. Next chapter will be the last of the Companions arc, and I'll be sure to include much more Aela/Marcus relationship development, culminating in somewhat intimate scene (no lemons, I'm afraid).**

 **I don't think I'll ever have Marcus carry more than 2 healing potions at any one time, that way it stays balanced and I can justify fights being extended. I probably won't specify their type either, just imagine it's strong enough to fix the wounds. I might do some alchemy stuff later on that explains how he can add the strength of potions together, creating one more potent potion instead. Maybe.**

 **Sorry for the delay on this chapter, it was harder to write, and I've had a lot of stuff going on.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes: There's a bit of a lemon-ish scene in this chapter. Probably about 1/5 of the intensity/length of a standard, if these sorts of things actually had any type of measurement system. For those of you that think I made Aela change character too much, or made her attraction to Marcus hard to believe, keep in mind that after the Companions questline, you can marry her straight away, meaning she's happy to spend the rest of her life with the MC. I figure if I make it more realistic than the vanilla game, I'm probably doing good.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 10 – Better Late than Never

Marcus and Vilkas showed up at Jorrvaskr with the pieces of Wuuthrad a little after midday, the following day after they retrieved them. Almost everyone was present to witness their 'triumph' but no-one really celebrated. They'd spent the day getting prepared for Kodlak's funeral, and as such, the mood was very tone and sombre. Ria, Marcus noticed in particular, had been crying so much that her face-paint was smudged over her face. He got the impression that Kodlak was very much a father-figure for her, more so than the rest of them, as she had known him since she was a little girl.

Marcus saw her sobbing quietly out in the corner of the training yard, sitting on the wall overlooking the farms of Whiterun. He contemplated going and comforting her, but didn't really know what he would say, or if she just wanted to be left alone. In the end, he just silently walked up behind her and placed a cloth beside her, for when she wanted to wipe her tears away. Then he just moved back, and returned inside.

He spent most of his time in his quarters, sitting on his bed, thinking. He thought about what Kodlak would want him to do, with his life. He thought about what the Greybeards had told him the last time he was at High Hrothgar, after he'd been formally recognised as Dragonborn. He thought about what the people in his past would want him to do with his life. In the end, it seemed that all these people wanted him to be good, moral, and honorable. The saddening thing was that none of the things he'd seemed to do lately had achieved that.

He'd killed people that probably didn't deserve to be killed, resulting in the wisest, most trusting man he knew being murdered. He'd accepted a raging beast into his very soul, and managed to justify it to himself because it meant killing more people more effectively. He'd then gone and done more of the wrong thing, killing the silver hand leaders to the point where they'd no longer be able to retaliate.

And now… now Marcus was getting tired of the entire business. If only Kodlak was here, he could give Marcus advice on how to improve himself morally. But if that was the case, Marcus wouldn't actually need the help in the first place.

In the end, Marcus decided that sitting in his room wasn't doing him any favours, mentally or emotionally, so he went for a walk after dusk. He wasn't particularly hungry, but grabbed an apple from the main hall just to keep his body's energy levels ticking over.

Marcus stepped out into the cool night air and sighed. It didn't look like anyone else was around. He picked a direction and started walking, spending most of his time looking up at the stars. There was a full moon, almost comically. As he gazed up at it, he felt the stirrings of the wolf within him, begging to be let free. Marcus suppressed the feelings almost angrily. As he walked out of view of Jorrvaskr, he heard a voice behind him.

"Can't sleep?"

Marcus turned, recognising the voice. It was Aela.

He said, "I just don't feel like it. Not to mention it doesn't really make me feel that rested, as you know."

Aela nodded, and walked into view. "I thought you were sneaking back to Breezehome to spend more time with that housecarl of yours."

Marcus frowned, "Why? The bed in Jorrvaskr isn't really that different to the one I have in Breezehome, you know."

"Really?" Aela raised her eyebrows, "Doesn't your bed in Breezehome have some other 'attractive' attributes, courtesy of your housecarl?"

"Why would she go out of her way to decorate a bed?" Marcus asked, somewhat confused.

Aela just sighed, and dropped the subject, somewhat annoyed that she hadn't gotten a straight answer out of him, to that question. The two walked side by side for a short while, before Aela spoke up.

"I probably should thank you, you dealt the final blow to the Silver Hand yesterday, and that has most certainly avenged our fallen brethren, and secured our future."

Marcus spun around like a whip at those words, and frowned deeply.

"No..." he said firmly, "you shouldn't thank me, because I didn't do anything good."

Aela stepped back, startled by Marcus' sudden refusal of her thanks. "What are you talking about? You avenged Kodlak! That is a good thing!"

Marcus shook his head, "No. I defended the companions from a danger that I brought on them. That WE brought on them. If it wasn't for our stupidity, our… brashness, then Kodlak would still be alive, and we'd all be a lot better off. I did what I had to do, but that doesn't make it morally sound."

"What?!" Aela shouted, "We had to kill the silver hand! They were directly opposed to our very existence!"

Marcus placed a finger to his lips, and pointed at the nearby houses. "Just because we can't sleep, don't assume others are having the same trouble."

"Ah to oblivion with them," Aela muttered dismissively, waving a hand toward the houses, "What I want to know is why you think killing those bastards wasn't deserved."

Marcus sighed, and looked at the ground, "Because it wasn't. Didn't Kodlak talk to you about this? Didn't he say that the revenge we waged on those poor bandits was far too savage… too extensive?"

"He said I needed to stop. Or at least, that's the only part I really accepted."

Marcus looked up at Aela, a disappointed look in his eyes. "Aela… you're acting like a child."

Aela looked furious at that last remark, "They killed two of us!"

Marcus ignored her anger and continued.

"And we killed dozens of them. Do you really think that Skjor was worth killing scores of people that predominantly hunted feral werewolves? Do you really think that he cares about us anymore, while he runs amok in Hircine's hunting grounds? Do you really think that Kodlak's death was unavoidable? Do you think that you and I are any better than the silver hand we exterminated, or are we just better at killing?"

Aela was dumbfounded at this, how blatantly Marcus was reprimanding her. He seemed so… different, as if the past weeks had whittled away at the shy demeanor he'd previously had when talking to her.

"There isn't any way to bring Kodlak back now Aela, but at least do him the honor of giving a damn about the ideals he held dear, because they sure as shit were better than the ones you do."

Marcus took a step away, and looked over the wall, down on the farms below, outside the city. Aela looked indignant, and clenched her hands into fists. She took a step toward him, and pointed at his back.

"How dare you… -"

Marcus interrupted her, turning back and taking a long step forward. He battered her pointed finger away.

"I dare Aela. I dare tell you that what you did is wrong, because I did the same thing and I KNOW it was wrong. Did you even feel anything as you helped carry Kodlak to his pyre? Remorse? Regret? Did you feel anything as you helped stack the wood that tomorrow will help carry his soul onward, to a place he never wanted to be? Did you?"

Marcus stared right into her eyes, valiantly. Aela couldn't match his gaze, and cast her eyes to the ground.

"We did a bad thing Aela, and others paid the ultimate price for it. I wish you'd see that. I want you to understand this, so you can become a better person. I want you... to become a better, happier person. But that won't happen until you accept your mistakes… until you realize that the beast in your blood, and the trophies on your wall, do not make you infallible."

With those words, Marcus turned and walked away, leaving Aela standing there, her cheeks burning from both indignation and embarrassment.

* * *

It was the following morning. The companions were gathered outside, around the Skyforge. It was an open ceremony, so there were numerous people from around Whiterun there was well. It seemed Kodlak was well-known and respected throughout the city. Marcus stood off to the side, next to Ria and Farkas. Kodlak was laid on a lattice of wooden planks, atop the main part of the Skyforge. The hot coals didn't seem to be burning the wood, for some reason, as if the forge itself knew that now was not the time to send Kodlak off, not just yet anyway. Once everyone who was going to show up, showed up, the collective mood shifted, as it was time to start.

Eorland spoke first, "Who will start?"

There was silence. Eyes turned to members of the circle. Marcus didn't know the processes entailing a companions funeral, nor what he should say, so he kept quiet. After another few seconds of silence, Aela cast a glance toward Marcus, and spoke up.

"I'll do it."

She took a deep breath, and spoke in a low, tone voice.

She said, "Before the ancient flame..."

As if one queue, all the other circle members spoke in unison. "We grieve."

Eorland spoke next, "At this loss..."

The circle members responded, "We weep."

Vilkas said, "For the fallen..."

"We shout."

Farkas said, "And for ourselves..."

"We take our leave."

Marcus didn't join in with any of this. He didn't know what to say. Once again, he was reminded of how new he was to the companions, and how he hadn't had much time to learn the required practices and customs. There was a minute or so of silence, then Aela stepped forward with a torch, and proceeded to light the wood underneath Kodlak. The flames grew quickly, and quickly concealed Kodlak's body behind a wall of fire. Marcus was glad for that. He didn't particularly like the idea of watching Kodlak's body turn burn and crackle. After a minute, the wood cracked, and Kodlak's body fell down into the middle of the pyre, and was completely gone.

The companions looked solemn, murmuring to themselves, and sniffling. The circle members all looks stony-faced. Except Marcus, that is, he had tears in his eyes like the rest of those present. Ria, beside Marcus, began sobbing. Marcus looked over at her, as she clutched her face in her hands, her torso shaking. Acting on instinct, he took a step toward her and wrapped his arms around her into a hug. Ria returned it gratefully, burying her face into his shoulder and weeping a little less intensely.

Aela looked over at the two, and felt a twinge of something in her chest. An unfamiliar feeling. After another minute, Aela spoke out. "His spirit is departed… Let the members of the circle withdraw to the underforge to grieve our last, together."

The crowd began to dissipate, and the circle members went down the stairs to the underforge. Marcus went to follow them, but Eorland pulled him aside.

"Do you have the fragments of Wuuthrad? I'll need to prepare them for mounting."

Marcus gestured with a thumb toward Jorrvaskr. "They're in my room, in a footlocker."

Eorland nodded, "There's also another piece that Kodlak always kept close to him, would you go to his chambers and bring it back? I… I don't know if I'm the best one to go through his things."

Marcus didn't know how he was any better suited to rummage through the belongings of Kodlak, but he agreed nonetheless.

"Yeah, I'll get it."

Marcus made his way into Kodlak's room, and tried not to disturb too much of the old man's things. Marcus wanted to keep it the way it was, for as long as possible. The place looked so… empty, without Kodlak's armor or sword hanging up on the wall. Marcus grabbed the fragment from the bedside draw and left the room quickly, staying there would just make him sadder.

Once outside, Marcus handed the fragment over to Eorland.

"Thank you," he said, taking the small piece of metal, "Your shield-siblings have gone into the underforge. They'll be waiting for you."

Marcus nodded, and headed off.

As he walked into the underforge, he heard Vilkas talking.

"The old man had one wish before he died. And he didn't get it… It's as simple as that."

Aela frowned, "Being moon-born isn't so much of a curse as you think, Vilkas."

Vilkas shook his head, "That's fine for you, but he wanted to be clean. He wanted to walk the halls of Sovngarde and meet Ysgramor. But all of that, was taken from him."

"And you avenged him," Aela said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Farkas spoke, his gravelly voice cutting in. "Kodlak did not care for vengeance."

Vilkas said, "No, Farkas, he did not. And that is not what this is about."

Vilkas took a step toward Aela, "We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood."

Marcus chose now to say something, stepping toward Aela with a serious expression on his face. "Kodlak wanted to be free, he wanted to pursue the afterlife he wanted. It doesn't matter what we did, or what we individually want. All that matters is fulfilling Kodlak's last wish, because that is the right thing to do."

Aela looked down, admitting defeat, and sighed. "You're right. It's what he wanted, and he deserved to have it."

Vilkas nodded, "Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death, using the Tomb of Ysgramor."

Marcus frowned, he'd read a book about Ysgramor's tomb, somewhere, and from what he could remember, getting inside wasn't easy. "But isn't it sealed up tight? You'd need Wuuthrad in full form to get it open, and it's been in pieces for centuries..."

He heard a voice behind him.  
"And Dragons were once stories, and Elves once ruled Skyrim."  
Marcus turned, and saw Eorland standing at the entrance to the underforge. One his back was…

"Just because something is, or something was, doesn't mean it will be, or should be."

"Is that Wuuthrad?" Vilkas said disbelievingly, "How did you repair it?"

Eorland took the axe of his back, and held it in both hands. "A weapon is a tool. Tools are meant to be broken, and repaired. I never had all the pieces before, but that changed thanks to the efforts of Marcus, here."

The circle looked at Marcus, who couldn't take his eyes off the huge axe. It had a gigantic blade, about the size of a man's chest. It looked like it would be very heavy, but Eorland was holding it easily.

Eorland looked at Marcus, and said, "The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered. And the flames of Kodlak have fueled the rebirth of Wuuthrad, and it will now take you to meet him once more."

Marcus could see etchings on the blade of Wuuthrad, similar to the carvings he'd seen on the walls in Nordic Tombs. They most likely described the stories of Ysgramor.

Eorland walked forward, at Marcus, and held out the axe to him.

"As the one he bore the fragments, I think you should have the honor of carrying Wuuthrad to Ysgramor's tomb."

Marcus gasped. He was to carry the most sacred artifact to ever cross the Companion's path in hundred of years? What on Earth made him the most suitable person for that?

"What? Why me?"

It was Vilkas that spoke, behind Marcus. "You're the one who was responsible for claiming most of those fragments Marcus, you're the one who hunted the witches. You're more worthy than any of us."

"But… But I'm responsible for..." Marcus couldn't bring himself to say the words. He still felt the guilt for Kodlak's death, he still felt responsible for the events. Probably because he was.

Aela stepped forward and placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Take it, Marcus. You might not think you're worthy, but we do. So, technically, you're outvoted."

The hint of a smile touched Marcus' face, for the first time in days. He reached out and took a firm hold of Wuuthrad.

He turned and looked at the circle. "Head to Ysgramor's tomb, I'll grab one of the glenmoril witch heads, and meet you there."

They all nodded, and headed out of the underforge, and into Jorrvaskr. Most likely they'd prepare and gear themselves up before moving out. Marcus would need to grab some healing potions from Breezehome, if he still had some. He'd been going through them fairly rapidly, to be honest. He'd probably need to either buy some, or learn how to make better ones himself.

Marcus walked down to Breezehome. His mood was elevated, somewhat. He still missed Kodlak, and still grieved the loss, but… he now had purpose. A purpose that would redeem himself, that would give him back the honor he'd lost. Fulfilling the last dying wish of a great man… what could be more honorable than that?

Marcus opened up the door to Breezehome, and was instantly met by the sight of Lydia leaping up from the chair next to the fire.  
"Marcus!" she cried, running over, "I heard about what happened, about Kodlak..."

"Yeah..." Marcus said sadly, walking past and patting her shoulder, "He… he was a good man."

Lydia nodded, "Everyone seems to have a story about how he helped them. He will be sorely missed."

Marcus moved over to a chest in the corner. "The members of the circle are going to fulfill Kodlak's last wish, at the Tomb of Ysgramor."

"Is this something to do with the werewolf blood?"

"Umm..." Marcus still found it difficult bringing up that topic with Lydia. "Yeah… in a sense."

Lydia smiled and crossed her arms, "So I expect you'll be wanting one of those rotting heads out the back of this house?"

"Umm… yeah… I will." Marcus kept looking in the chest, clearly distracted, "Do we have any healing potions left?"

Lydia sighed, "There's only two left, they're on the table."

Marcus poked his head out of the chest and alighted on the potions on the table. He stood up and walked over to them, but Lydia walked in front of him, and forced him to stop.

She looked at his chest, with a sad expression on her face. "So… if you need these, that means you'll be getting hurt?"

Marcus didn't see any point in lying, even if he would have been able to hide it from her. "Yes."

"And I suppose you won't be able to bring me along?"

"It's strictly an affair amongst the circle, I don't think you'd be… 'appropriate' for the mission."

Lydia nodded sadly, and looked away, toward the table. "Will this be dangerous? Will you be ok?"

"I… I don't know Lydia," Marcus took hold of her by the shoulders, and turned her around to face him. "but I'm fairly sure I'll be coming back, I'm going with a lot of experienced fighters, remember?"

Lydia nodded, quickly, trying to convince herself, "you're right, you're right."

Marcus laughed, "Can I get that in writing? 'Lydia admits Marcus is right with something' Fourth Era, on a Thursday." He swept his hand through the air as if displaying a sign or poster.

"Shut up," Lydia said frowning, playfully punching him on the arm.

Marcus walked behind her and grabbed the healing potions, and made for the door. "I'll only be a few days." And with those words, he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

* * *

The journey to Ysgramor's tomb took about a day, and Marcus made it alone. The long, empty road going up past Dawnstar gave him a lot of time to think. Mostly, the same thought went through his head.

 _You need to try harder._

He needed to try harder to be a better person. He needed to try harder to protect those in his life. Marcus needed to be more vigilant, more honorable, more… trustworthy. He needed to become something that he could be proud of, not something that he felt like he should atone for, which is what he was doing at the moment. Though Marcus doubted he'd ever fully feel atoned for what he'd done in his life, even… even from long ago. He'd joined the companions in order to become a better fighter so he could live out this 'hero' mentality the gods seemed to be shoving onto him, but it hadn't really turned out that way.

Marcus had killed people he didn't need to, lost friends, and accepted a part of the daedra into himself... Though, he'd be lying if he said his luck hadn't turned out how he'd expected it to. It couldn't all be blamed on luck, however.

The climate grew significantly colder, as he got closer to the tomb. After a long time walking along the coast, he came across the point that apparently, according to his map, meant that the tomb was on an island directly north of him.

Marcus peered over the water, but couldn't see anything, it was just snowing too hard. Marcus sighed. He'd have to swim.

Normally, he wouldn't consider swimming in full clothing and armor as he was. His gear wasn't heavy enough that he'd sink, as Eorland and himself had made sure of that, but it still meant that the fur and leather would get immensely heavy, and make the whole exercise 10 times more demanding. On the other hand, removing the armor would remove the oily barrier on the surface of the fur and leather that separated much of the water from his skin. If he didn't want to freeze, he'd have to keep the armor on.

Marcus sighed, and waded into the water. This was going to be very, very annoying.

About 30 minutes later, Marcus flopped like a dead fish onto the shore of Ysgramor's island, gasping heavily. He needed to figure out a better way to get to these sorts of places. Maybe there was some way to conjure a boat, if one learned about the right type of magic. Once Marcus had recovered from his freezing cold swim, he walked up the island toward the large, nordic ruin ahead.

The door was already open, and once inside, Marcus was greeted by the sight of a large statue, and the rest of the circle.

Vilkas looked up away from the statue as Marcus entered, and nodded in greeting toward him.

"This is the rest place of Ysgramor, and his most trusted generals. You should be cautious."

Marcus frowned, "I should be cautious? You mean we should be cautious?"

Vilkas shook his head slowly. "I won't be coming with you. Kodlak was right, I let vengeance rule my heart."

"But..." Marcus didn't understand, "I'm as much to blame as you, I partook in the exact same vengeance that you did! What makes me different to you?"

Vilkas sighed, "You understand what we did was wrong… you regret it, however necessary it was. I however, regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade, so I can't go any further with my mind fogged or my heart grieved."

"I..." Marcus looked down at his feet, "I understand."

"Just be careful… These halls will be protected by the spirits of the old companions, those who were buried with Ysgramor."

Marcus involuntarily looked to his right, toward the statue. "Are… are we trespassing, in their eyes?"

Vilkas laughed, "Oh no! Definitely not. In fact, I'd wager they're expecting us, but they will want to see if we are 'worthy' in a fighting sense, to venture within."

"I see," Marcus nodded, thinking to himself. _Of course, why is it never simple?_

He looked over to Farkas and Aela, who were waiting near the statue, "You guys ready?"

They nodded, so Marcus took out Wuuthrad, and slipped it into the hands of the Ysgramor statue. A creaking noise was heard, and the wall behind the statue slid up into the ceiling.

With a glance at the rest of them, Marcus headed into the tomb, with Farkas and Aela trailing close behind. They walked down a long corridor, dimly lit by spaced torches. After a minute of careful walking, during which the three companions checked every angle to ensure they weren't caught by traps, or these 'spirits' of the old companions, they came across a large room. It was very open, with multiple coffins around the edges. As they walked down the stairs into the room, a strange gust of cold wind blew past them.

Then, as if on queue, about 5, blue spectral figures walked out of the upright coffins. They were wearing ancient armor, similar to what Aela was wearing, with the same kind of helmets that Marcus had seen some Draugr wearing. The ghosts ran at Marcus and the others, drawing their weapons as they approached.

Aela drew her bow and took a step back, nocking an arrow. Marcus stepped forward and met two of the ghosts head-on. The one on his left swung a battle-axe at him in a horizontal strike, so Marcus jumped backwards, and as soon as the blade was clear, jumped forward and lunged at the ghost with his sword. The ghost was quick, however, and brought up the handle of his axe and parried away the thrust. Before Marcus could recover, he felt a burning sensation in his side as the second ghost stabbed him with one of her two daggers. He staggered back, putting about a metre between himself and the ghosts.

They weren't easy to take down, that's for sure. It seems Ysgramor's most trusted generals were actually fairly competent fighters, go figure. As the two ghosts advanced on Marcus again, he heard a whistling noise just past his right ear. An arrow sailed across the room and buried itself into the chest of the male ghost. It groaned and went down on one knee, so Marcus decided to take the opportunity presented, and ran forward. The second ghost slashed at Marcus to protect the first, but Marcus was prepared, and batted aside the dagger with the flat of his sword. Then, using his dagger in his other hand, he cut at the throat of the male ghost. It didn't suffer any discernible wound, but it made a groaning noise, and dissolved into a puddle of glowing ectoplasm on the floor. The second ghost stabbed Marcus in his side once again, in the same spot, and this time the blade went in deeper.

Marcus groaned, and staggered away, clutching the right side of his body, blood seeping through his fingers. The ghost looked disdainfully at him, as it approached one again, readying both daggers in its hands. Another 'twang' was heard, and another arrow flew through the air. It buried itself in the ghost's back, and caused her to stumble forward. Ignoring the severe pain in his hip, Marcus stepped to the left and ran his sword through the ghost's chest as she came close, then reached behind her and stabbed his dagger into the back of her neck. With the two blades embedded in it, the female ghost cried out, and dissolved into a puddle. With his two ghosts dealt with, Marcus turned to see how Farkas and Aela were faring. One of the ghosts was moving in on Aela, who has putting away her bow and drawing her dagger. Farkas was engaging another two. First things first though, he needed to deal with this wound.

Calling magicka into his hand, Marcus channeled restoration magic through his body, to the gaping wound in his side oozing blood. The pain made his vision blur and darken at the edges, but Marcus gritted his teeth and tried to block it out.

 _You need to try harder,_ he reminded himself.

Marcus figured Aela could handle one ghost, so he sprinted over to Farkas to help him. As he got close to the two ghosts attacking Farkas, one of them turned around to as it got a glimpse of the running figure behind it. Marcus didn't slow down, lowering his shoulder so his metal pauldron was facing first, and crashing into the ghost, sending it sprawling onto the floor. Before it could get up, Marcus leapt onto its chest, and stabbed his dagger through its spectral wrist and into the stone beneath, pinning it to the floor. In the back of his mind, Marcus was grateful his dagger wasn't plain steel, or it wouldn't have gone into the stone.

The ghost had just enough time to grimace at Marcus, before he raised his sword and drove it into the ghost's chest with both hands, the blade sliding across the chest plate and sinking into one of the gaps in the armor. With a groan, the ghost dissipated.

Marcus quickly looked up, just in time to see Farkas run the last ghost through with his greatsword. Aela walked up behind him, and brushed some ectoplasm off his shoulder.

"Not bad," she said, "but don't you think charging and leaping onto them is a bit too dramatic?"

Marcus looked at her and grinned, "You should see how dramatic I get when I fight a dragon..."

Farkas grunted, "We should keep moving."

They moved into another chamber, and this time only four companion's ghosts walked out of the coffins, except one had a bow.

"You've got competition," Marcus remarked, looking sideways at Aela. She just raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say 'now is not the time.'

Farkas and Marcus went in first, weapons at the ready, while Aela and the ghostly archer exchanged shots. The first ghost lunged at Marcus with a sword, so Marcus brought his sword up to parry it away, but wasn't quite fast enough. He still blocked the sword, but the blade just nicked his wrist, drawing blood. While the wound wasn't dangerous, it still hurt, which annoyed Marcus.

Farkas wasn't just sitting back and watching however, so when Marcus parried away the sword, he brought his greatsword down and cleaved a mighty blow from the shoulder of the ghost to its navel.

The second ghost was right behind the first, along with the third. Each one swung for Farkas, who was able to block one attack, but not the other. The third ghost cracked his mace against Farkas' shoulder, doing bad damage to the steel pauldron, but only doing so much as bruising the skin beneath.

Because both ghosts were facing slightly away from Marcus, he was able to slash one across the throat with his dagger, and stab the other in the chest with his sword. One last swing from Farkas finished both of them off. Off to the side, Aela fired one last arrow into the ghost archer, and he went down.

Marcus asked Farkas, "You all right? Did that thing with the mace hurt you bad?"

"No." Farkas replied plainly, "A bruise, maybe, but nothing more."

Marcus nodded, then walked over to Aela. She was kneeling down, holding onto something on the shoulder obscured to Marcus.

"Are you alright, Aela?" he said, walking over. He made a quiet gasp when he got closer. There, embedded in her shoulder, was an arrow. She was halfway through the process of snapping it in half, and tearing it out, when she realized that the arrow couldn't be snapped, since it was spectral.

"Divines, Aela," Marcus muttered as he got closer, "What happened?"

"He shot me with an arrow," she replied through gritted teeth, "what does it look like?"

Marcus knelt down beside her and inspected the wound. It had gone through the fleshy part just down her arm a little. Normal procedure would be to break the shaft, the slide out the arrow, but it didn't looked like that was happening. Whatever magic held the arrow together, it was much, much stronger than regular wood.

"We can't take it out, not yet," Marcus said, grabbing hold of Aela and lifting her to her feet carefully. "We'll need to wait until we get back to Whiterun, then the arrow can be removed surgically."

Marcus got up and gestured toward the way they'd come.

"No way," Aela said firmly, "I'm coming with you, I need to see this through, for Kodlak."

"Aela don't be silly," Marcus said, "You can hardly even move that arm, not to mention how much pain you'll be in if you try."

Farkas came over and interrupted, "Either way, I'll be heading back myself now."

"Huh? Why?" Marcus asked, looking over at Farkas.

Farkas pointed at the opposite doorway, the one they'd need to use to proceed further. It was covered in spiderwebs. "Ever… ever since the Cairn, they crawly ones have been too much for me. I'm sorry, but everyone has their weakness, and this is mine."

Marcus looked at the webs, then back at Farkas. "It's ok, shield-brother, there's nothing to be sorry about."

He nodded at Aela, "Go with Farkas, Aela, it's for the best."

"To hell with that," muttered Aela, "You don't know how much of a fight is waiting for you deeper down. You could very easily die without help. I can still use my left arm, so I can still help you. I won't let you do this alone… it's not your burden to bear by yourself."

Marcus looked into Aela's eyes, seeing nothing but determination and an iron will, and… something else he couldn't place. He doubted he'd be able to convince her, she seemed to really be set with this idea. He didn't want her to get hurt, but he realized that at this point, it wasn't his decision.

"Very well," Marcus sighed, "head on back Farkas."

The big man nodded, and promptly turned and headed back.

Aela swallowed a quick healing potion, to help with the pain, then walked toward the far doorway with Marcus.

They spent the next two hours moving carefully through the tomb. Much of that time was spent in a long, wide room that snaked left and right, with coffins and tombstones on both walls. They came across either single ghosts, or pairs. The two managed to dispatch them easily enough, but by the time they got to the end, the countless cuts and bashes Marcus had taken meant he no longer had any healing potions left, and had depleted much of his magicka.

They stopped in a larger room with some tables and chairs, and Marcus sat down on one of the chairs, breathing heavily. He'd made sure Aela stuck behind him, and only attacked something with her dagger when he was sure she wouldn't get exposed. She said that she could hardly feel the arrow in her shoulder, but Marcus didn't believe her.

"We… we should rest, for a while," Marcus said tiredly, "We don't know how many more ghosts there could be up ahead… let's rest while we can."

"Agreed." Aela said, equally tiredly. The painkilling effects of the potion would have worn off by now, so she'd no doubt be feeling tired and in pain. Regardless, she was quite impressed with how Marcus refused to let her get involved in the more dangerous fights. To see him so protective of her was… intriguing.

"Let me see the wound again," Marcus said, "I want to make sure there's nothing I can do."

Aela climbed up and sat on the edge of the table, while Marcus examined the spectral arrow protruding through her shoulder. If only he knew a little more about conjuration magic, he might be able to dispel the thing. The area around the wound wasn't bleeding anymore, thanks to the healing potion, but Marcus had no doubt that if it was touched, blood would start to seep out.

"Here," Aela said, shifting her position and reaching behind her, "this may help."

She reached behind her and unclasped something, then the shoulderguard and sleeve on her armor slipped off, exposing the arrow more fully.

Unfortunately, it also exposed much of Aela's chest, as well as a large amount of skin along her back.

"Oh!" Marcus cried quickly averting his eyes, "I… you…"

"Oh come on, you big baby," Aela scolded, "just focus on the arrow."

Marcus gulped and looked back. Aela's back was to him, and much of her pale skin was on display. He could even see, just underneath her arm, the swell of her -

 _No, don't think about it,_ Marcus scolded himself, _just focus on the arrow._

He bent over and looked at the back of the arrow closer. He decided to go grab a torch off the wall to see the wound a bit better, maybe check if there was any infection. Plus, he had to figure that Aela was probably getting a little cold, given that half her upper body was exposed.

Forcing himself to focus only on the wound area, Marcus brought the torch closer and peered at it, noticing something odd. It was strange, as it the arrowhead faded when the light was brought near it. Marcus practiced moving the torch away, then back. The arrow grew more physical when the flame was further away, and faded ever so slightly when it was brought close.

It seemed that fire had some effect on the spectral, magical nature of the arrow, but Marcus didn't know why. Maybe the torch was magical? That'd explain why it was still burning after the place had been sealed for centuries.

"Hang on," Marcus said to Aela, not taking his eyes off the wound, not looking at her curvacious figure, or her slender neck, or her -

 _Focus!_

"I'm going to try something," he said, "don't freak out."

Aela chuckled, "Feel free to get… 'hands on' if you feel it will help."

Marcus' eyes widened slightly, and he gulped, "… uh… that won't be necessary."

Channeling fire into his hand, Marcus held the broadhead of the arrow in the centre of the flames for a few seconds. When he took it out, the broadhead was gone.

"Oh…" Marcus said, "I appear to have removed the broadhead."

He then moved his fiery hand along the shaft a little, taking care not to get too close to Aela's skin, and the spectral arrow decreased in length.

"It seems the magic holding the arrow together can be interfered with by other magic," Marcus said.

"That's good… isn't it?"

"Yes," Marcus nodded, "it's very good, because it means that now I can do this -"

Abruptly, Marcus ripped out the rest of the spectral arrow. Without the broadhead, there was little to stop it running smoothly out of Aela's body.

That's not to say it didn't hurt.

"Oww!" she shouted, "By the blood Marcus, warn me next time!"

"You'd have just tensed the muscle," Marcus said matter-of-factly, "it needed to be a surprise."

"Hmph… thank you, in that case."

Marcus tossed aside the rest of the arrow, and wiped his hand clean. Now that the arrow was removed, the wound began to bleed. They didn't have a healing potion left though, but there was an alternative…

"Umm… I'm going to need to heal you," Marcus said, "but I need to… touch the area, in order to do so."

Aela turned her head slightly, just enough for Marcus to see her raised eyebrow. "Well? If it'll heal, go ahead."

Marcus swallowed nervously again, and called the last of his magicka into his hands. The soft restorative glow spread across them, and he gently placed his palms onto the soft skin around Aela's shoulder. The golden light wove its way through her shoulder, and Aela sighed in relief as the wound began to close. Marcus began to feel the headache of depleted magic in his head, but he kept going until he was certain the wound wasn't an issue anymore.

Once the arrow hole was closed, Marcus cancelled the spell in his hands, and blinked away the spots in his vision. The headache was pretty bad, he probably shouldn't have tried so hard, but he really wanted to make sure she was ok. Purely out of a friendly manner, he told himself.

He turned away from Aela sitting at the table, and rubbed his temples with his eyes closed. He heard the shift of movement beside him, as Aela moved off the table.

She said, "What's wrong? Did the magic do something?"

"No, no," he shook his head, his eyes still closed, "I just… I probably used a bit too much magic trying to heal it completely."

"Huh," Aela mumbled, she sounded… strange. "You shouldn't have tried so hard."

"Well… I figured you wouldn't want to be in pain any longer."

"Such a noble gentleman." Aela chuckled. Marcus felt her sit next to him on the seat. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and had to immediately look away with his cheeks burning.

Aela was still half-naked on her upper body. This time, she was facing him.

Marcus fixed his eyes on the far wall, his heart racing. What was she thinking? Why was she just sitting there?

Aela laughed quietly, "Something wrong, Marcus?"

He didn't trust himself to speak.

Aela shuffled closer to him, pressing her body up against his.

"It's very cold here Marcus," she purred quietly, "if we are to 'rest' here, shouldn't we get closer to conserve warmth?"

Marcus opened his mouth, but no words came out initially, "Wha… why… Why are you…?"

Aela chuckled again, "Such clever medical treatment deserves some sort of payment, don't you think? After all, you seem to have caused yourself some discomfort in the act, you need rest now more than ever."

Marcus' mind went blank. He could feel Aela's skin pressed up against his, even though he was still wearing most of his armor. He could feel her breath, hot on his neck. He could feel her eyes, staring at the side of his head as he averted his gaze from her form.

"Just relax, Marcus." Aela said quietly.

Relaxing was the last thing on Marcus' mind right now, his mind blasted to pieces at Aela's direct attitude. "This isn't really the best place..."

"I know," Aela whispered, "I won't do anything serious. You want this, don't you?"

What he wanted? Right then, Marcus didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know anything. His mind was just a racing quivering mass of heat and confusion. "What I want…"

Marcus slowly turned to face her. He tried to look her in the eyes, but he simply couldn't stop himself from quickly glancing at her form. It was… perfect, to say the least, and it wasn't even entirely exposed. The pale skin had no imperfections or flaws.

Marcus forced himself to tear his eyes off her body, and look her in the eyes. She was smiling at him, obviously enjoying his flustered, conflicted state.

Marcus took a deep breath, before speaking. "What I want is for us to get through this in one piece. This is an incredibly dangerous environment, and we can't let out guard down."

Marcus slowly stood up, "I'll take first watch. You get some rest, and I'll let you know in an hour or so when to take over."

With those words, Marcus quickly walked, almost skipped, over to the corner of the room where he'd stay for the next hour or so. He didn't feel tried anymore anyway. The sheer adrenaline and shock of what had just happened had bolstered his brain significantly. A primal part in his head was screaming at him to turn around and take Aela up on her offer, but he did his best to ignore it. What he was doing was the best plan, he told himself.

Aela watched him walk away, pouting ever so slightly. He was probably making the right decision, but that didn't mean she wasn't somewhat… disappointed in it. Still, his reaction meant that he was certainly agreeable to the idea, which meant she still had plenty of opportunities later to get what she wanted.

Once they'd both decided they'd had enough 'uninterrupted' rest, the two left the room through the far door. Marcus and Aela walked up a set of stairs, and ended up in a very large room, with a fire burning in the middle, on a pedestal. The fire was blue.

As Marcus approached it, he say that behind the fire, was another spectral figure. It was a familiar old man.

"Kodlak?" Marcus asked, eyes wide, "Is that you?"

Kodlak looked up and nodded, "Yes. My fellow harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here, trying to evade Hircine."

Marcus looked around, he couldn't see anyone else, "There's no-one else here?"

Kodlak chuckled, "You only see me because your heart only knows me as the Companions' leader. I'd wager old Vignar could see half a dozen people standing here. And I see them all, the ones in Sovngarde… and the ones in Hircine's realm."

Kodlak took a step toward Marcus, "And they all see you, Marcus. You've brought great honor in the name of the Companions. We won't soon forget it."

Marcus decided not to contradict that statement at the moment, regardless of how honorable her personally felt. "Vilkas said you can still be cured."

Kodlak's face brightened, somewhat. "Did he? I can only hope. If you still have the witches heads, then throw one of them on this fire. It'll release their magic, for me at least."

Marcus nodded, and took out the Glenmoril witch head he brought. With a glance at Kodlak, he tossed it into the fire.

The fire flared brightly, and Kodlak began to groan. A large, red, spectral wolf began emerging from him, howling and growling madly. The wolf writhed as it attempted to stay inside Kodlak's body, and Kodlak writhed as he attempted to expel it, mentally and physically.

Another few seconds past during which Marcus was unsure what to do. He took a step back and looked toward Aela for guidance. She looked back with an afraid and confused look. She didn't understand what was happening anymore than he did.

Another few second past, and the wolf seemed to be flung out of Kodlak's body, right in front of Marcus. Acting on instinct, Marcus lashed out and kicked it, and the wolf snarled at him, leaping forward with its jaws open. He rolled out of the way, and drew his sword. The wolf fixed its eyes on him. He moved forward, readying his blade. The wolf circled him slowly, keeping an eye on both figures. Then it pounced.

Marcus tried to dodge out of the way, but it seems the wolf anticipated it, and leapt again as soon as its feet touched the ground. It landed on Marcus and drove him to the ground. It bared its teeth, and lunged at his throat. Just before the spectral teeth reached Marcus' neck, an arrow from Aela slammed into the side of its head, and made it fall off Marcus' body. Rolling to the side and getting on his feet, Marcus fixed his eyes on the wolf again. It certainly didn't follow the regular anatomy of a wolf, because the arrow stuck in its head didn't seem to slow it down.

Remembering what he discovered earlier during that… unusual incident with Aela, about magical fire interfering with the spectral magic, Marcus took a deep breath, and faced toward the wolf as it began running at him again.

"Yol!"

The circle of fire flew through the air and slammed into the unprepared wolf, it barked in pain, and was flung across the floor several metres. When it stopped, it tried to stand up, clearly weakened. Aela ran over and stabbed her dagger into its neck with her one good arm, then dragged it across the glowing fur, creating a cut from the throat to its stomach. The wolf howled quietly, and disappeared.

Kodlak breathed deeply, and smiled. "You killed the wolf spirit… and so slain the beast inside me."

Marcus smiled, and sighed in relief. He'd done it. It was over. Kodlak was free.

"Thank you, hero. Perhaps from Sovngarde, the other heroes can join me in rescuing the other harbingers trapped under Hircine's influence. The battles that would unfold would be of great triumph… Perhaps you'll be able to join one day, to charge with us in battle."

"Maybe…" Marcus said quietly.

Kodlak placed a glowy hand on Marcus' shoulder, "But for now, return to Jorrvaksr and rejoice in your victory, and lead the companions to further glory."

With those last words, Kodlak faded away. The last thing that disappeared was his happy, content face.

Marcus was somewhat shocked at what Kodlak has said, and didn't even move until a few seconds after the old man had vanished entirely.

"Goodbye," was what he said eventually, only to an empty space however.

Aela walked up behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him to face her. "Did I hear that right? You're to lead the companions?"

Marcus blinked, still digesting the information. "Ye- Yes. That's what he said."

Aela thought for a moment, then nodded in satsifaction. "You've earned the right. Your strength and honor are apparent to all."

"Really?" Marcus said, frowning, "I don't see how I-"

"For the sake of the Gods Marcus," Aela said shaking her head, "Just accept the fact that you're a halfway decent person for once."

"I… ok."

Aela smiled, and nodded at him. "It's my honor to address you as such first, Harbinger."

Harbinger. The title had a nice ring to it. It commanded presence and weight. Kind of like how 'Dragonborn' sounded. Marcus shook his head wearily, he was amassing quite the selection of titles.

"I don't suppose this means anyone will listen to me any more than they currently do, does it?"

Aela chuckled, "Maybe more than usual, but keep in mind it's still just an 'advisory' position, Marcus."

"Of course."

Aela leaned over and whispered in his ear seductively, "Though, feel free to 'assert' your new dominance on me at anytime, Harbinger."

Marcus' mind went blank again, and he stood frozen. Aela looked at his unsure expression and laughed. She leaned back over and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and began walking toward a side exit. "Let's go tell the others."

* * *

It was a week and a half later. Everyone had somewhat settled in with Marcus' new position, to greater or lesser extent. The turmoil of the past several weeks had left everyone fairly exhausted emotionally, so they didn't really have much left to argue. They just accepted that it was what Kodlak wanted, and Marcus was qualified enough for the position, and that was that.

Marcus hadn't been relaxing the entire time though, he'd travelled back to Ysgramor's tomb three times, on circle-related matters.

Both Farkas and Vilkas wanted to be like Kodlak. They wanted to be clean, free of the wolf spirit. Marcus had agreed to take them along, and brought a glenmoril witch head for the fire. Once he knew how to fight the wolf spirit and was prepared for it, the whole process became relatively simple. Plus, it allowed Marcus to get some space from Aela. Her newfound attraction to him made it hard to concentrate on the duties of a harbinger. Not that there were any, really. He just felt… uncomfortable, unsure what to do. The time out on the road helped him think.

In any event, Vilkas and Farkas were happy with the cleansing. They both felt less angry, less… clouded in a mental sense. They both expressed a definite positive personality change too, becoming a bit more focused and friendly.

That was the first two times anyway, the third time, he came alone. He brought the last head, and stood in front of the fire, thinking.

Did he want to cleanse himself?

Did he want to purge that beast that had caused him so many problems over the past few weeks? The beast that had shifted his personality along those paths that had made the regretable choices? Did he want to remove the presence of a daedra from his soul, and secure a place in the nordic afterlife, should he be worthy?

Yes, Marcus did want that.

Did he want to remove the one thing that had saved his life countless times in numerous places? Did he want to remove that seemingly infallible contingency plan that had helped him save Lydia's life? The same contingency plan that gave him the passive ability to see in the dark, and sense things he couldn't see or hear?

No, Marcus did not want that.

Thus lied the dilemma that raced through Marcus' mind as he stood in front of the fire. What would be the best course of action? There were numerous positives and negatives to both arguments, and neither side seemed to win out. Making tough calls had never been Marcus' strong suit. As a child, he'd often had trouble deciding what he wanted for dinner, let alone something as serious as this.

Marcus sighed, and thought. The indecision set in as he took the final few steps toward the fire. Up until that point, the goal had been to remove the beast. Now, he wasn't sure. Overthinking and over-reflection. The two biggest banes of Marcus' life, or so he thought.

Marcus thought about what Lydia would say, what Kodlak would say, what his mother would say.

They'd probably all tell him to do what he thought was best, which he didn't know. It wasn't as if Marcus didn't have powers outside of the beast blood. He was still Dragonborn, and could still use magic, so he wasn't the same as most of the other Companions.

 _The blood might be advantageous now,_ Marcus thought, _while my Thu'um and magic are weak, but who's to say that'll be the case forever?_

Marcus stared into the blue flame. It flickered slowly. He should follow his heart. He should be what he was born to be.

Reaching out, Marcus tossed the head into the flame.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: It was pretty hard not to make a cringy pun about a shaft being inside Aela, but I managed to resist. Sorry again about the lateness of this chapter, but I didn't want it to seem too rushed. My work has been rostering me fairly consistently too, so I had less time to work on this.**

 **I'll be leaving the main quests in the game alone for a chapter or two at least, pursing some other ideas I have, with some new characters. I might give Marcus a new sword too.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Notes: Taking a break from big quests and such, and from the whole Whiterun area. I've decided to give Marcus a glass sword and dagger now, as well as make his armor more like the original Nordic Adventurer set in the mod, without my aforementioned colour changes, using the new 'skyforge'.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 11 – The Marsh Flower

Morthal didn't look very nice. It looked downright depressing, to be honest. Marcus gazed out over the town, noticing in particular the swampy water over which many houses were suspended, as well as an unruly mob out the front of the town, outside the largest building. The sky was a bleak shade of grey and milky white. The sun shone through the clouds dimly, to the point where Marcus could stare right at it, and not need to look away. The trees around the town were dark green, and the ground was a mix of snow and mud. There were no bird calls, no crickets chirping, no markets, nothing.

Yeah… depressing.

Marcus breathed in the cool air and walked down into the town. The cold air prickled at the skin on his face. A breeze blew and tousled his brown hair slightly, making it slightly messier than before. Ever since he'd purged the werewolf from his blood, he had been able to… notice such aspects of the world a little better, if not appreciate them.

Danica in Whiterun had asked him to deliver some medicine to a woman named 'Idgrod' in Morthal, and Marcus was happy to go on a little trip to a place in Skyrim he hadn't seen yet. If he'd known Morthal would be this bleak, he probably would've suggested a courier instead. As Marcus walked past the largest building, he heard the group of men yelling angrily at some poor lackey in front of the door.

"What's the Jarl gonna do about it?!"

"How are we going to feel safe in our own homes?!"

The lackey held his hands up in front of him, trying to stem the tide of harsh comments. "Please, the Jarl has heard your concerns, and you have nothing to fear from the new visitor..."

"We won't accept wizards in our midst!"

Marcus walked on by, raising an eyebrow. He'd always known that most nords didn't care for magic, but complaining to the jarl in a group of about five people was a little extreme. Marcus knew he wouldn't be alive it wasn't for magic. Speaking of such, Marcus realized he probably should see if he could learn a few more spells, for inside combat and out of it.

 _I still need to figure out that transmute spell too…_ Marcus thought.

It was late evening, so Marcus decided to spend the night in the inn before finding whoever it was he was meant to find. Odds are, they were probably in bed by now. He pushed open the door to the inn, and was greeted with the sound of the worst singing he'd ever heard. As he entered, Marcus looked around for the source of the noise.

His eyes came across an orc, standing near the counter, playing a lute badly, and singing badly.

"There once was a bloke named Rognor the Red..." the orc drawled, plucking randomly at the strings on his lute. Marcus grimaced, but kept quiet. There was only one other person in the inn beside himself, the bard, and the inkeeper. It was a middle-aged man with brown hair, drinking quietly in the corner. Marcus walked up to the counter, and nodded at the innkeeper.

"A room for the night," he said, "and breakfast, if you do it."

The woman nodded, and gave Marcus a key, before nodding at the room to the left.

"Sure thing," she said, "it's yours for the day."

Marcus thanked her, and walked into the room. He was pretty tired after the trip, so he decided just to go straight to bed. After taking off his shoes and most of his armor, Marcus flopped onto the bed and fell asleep, with the poor singing of the orc dimly in the background.

* * *

Idgrod the Younger woke up in the early hours of the morning, in a cold sweat. She'd just awoken from a horrible nightmare, or at least, she hoped it was a nightmare. If it was a vision… it would not be good.

The dream consisted of a large group of armed men and women, with glowing red eyes charging through Morthal and cutting down anyone who opposed them. They ran amok, cutting down every guardsmen, and slaughtering the few brave townsmen who stood against them. Idgrod couldn't do anything but watch as these people lay waste to the town. They seemed to ignore her, and she couldn't move. She was just a spectator.

Halfway through the dream, Idgrod had realized that the invaders were all vampires. The magic and the fangs indicated so. She'd seen… she watched her little brother Joric have his own lifeblood sucked out of his neck. She could see the terrified look on his face, even now…

Idgrod shuddered. I _t was just a dream,_ she told herself.

Then the dream changed, and all the vampires and corpses faded away. They were replaced with the typical scene of Morthal, with people going about their daily business as if nothing was wrong. Then, out from the marsh, a lone figure walked into view. He was young, dressed in a strange, pieced-together armor with leather and silvery steel. He looked tired, and bore numerous injuries. He was holding something in his left hand. As he got closer, Idgrod could see from her spectator viewpoint in front of the Jarl's longhouse, that the something in his hand was a severed head. A severed vampire's head. Idgrod immediately recognized it as one of the vampire's from the previous dream sequence, a particularly powerful one, if she recalled.

The stranger walked up to the longhouse, where Jarl Idgrod and her steward were waiting. Now that he was close, Idgrod could look at the man in more detail. He had brown hair, cut short and somewhat unkempt. A strange green sword and dagger hung from his waist. He wasn't tall, or short. He wasn't handsome or ugly, with his most distinguishing facial feature being his striking hazel eyes. They were almost orange.

The man stopped a few metres from the Jarl, and smiled a weary smile. He then tossed the head at their feet, and everything faded to black. That's when Idgrod woke up.

As she got dressed, Idgrod began feeling worried. When her dreams were that detailed, they were almost always visions. She hadn't had one in a long time, and they were never that… vivid. She contemplated telling her mother about it, but decided against it. Jarl Idgrod probably just tell her she was being overdramatic about nothing more than a nightmare.

After getting ready, Idgrod the younger walked out into Morthal, deciding that a walk through town would do her some good. She was halfway down the street, almost about to cross the bridge heading to the mill, when a man walked out of the inn. Idgrod froze in the middle of the road, and stared. It was him, the man from her dream. The armor, the weapons, the hair, it was all the same. She'd recognized him instantly. The man walked out past her, and made for the Longhouse. She stared at him the whole way, a million thoughts running through her head.

Predominant among them, was the realization that if the part of her dream concerning the man was true, what's to say the part about Morthal being attacked wasn't?

* * *

Marcus woke up early, with a grumbling stomach. He'd neglected to eat the previous night, so he was fairly hungry this morning. He'd gone outside, and been relieved that the orc was nowhere to be seen, so he could eat his breakfast in peace. As he sat at a table, munching on some bread and cheese, the innkeeper came over.

"You don't mind if I join you?" she asked, "it gets kind of boring around here."

"Not at all," Marcus said, beckoning to the space next to him.

"Thanks," said the innkeeper, sitting down, "I'm Jonna."

"Marcus."

They sat in silence, before Marcus spoke. "I'm looking for someone named Idgrod. I have a package to deliver."

Jonna nodded, "that'll be the Jarl, just head for the longhouse when you're ready."

Marcus said, "thanks. Any new recently about Morthal I should know of?"

She groaned, "nothing good, that's for sure. Everyone's stirred up about my wizard brother, some people have gone missing, and a house burned down not that long ago, with a mother and daughter still inside."

"Damn," Marcus said quietly, shaking his head, "sounds rough, especially about that poor mother and daughter."

"Yeah," Jonna mumbled, "the screams woke half the town. Not to mention now we have to worry about dragons burning down even more houses."

"Have any dragons attacked here yet?"

Jonna shook her head, "not yet, which is good, because we'd never be able to defend against one. Our only hope would be if that 'Dragonborn' fellow that everyone's talking about shows up, but that's never going to happen." She sighed, "there's no reason why anyone would come to Morthal anymore."

"Huh..." Marcus said, raising an eyebrow, "and uh… what do you know of this Dragonborn? What have you heard?"

"Not much, other than that he's been seen with the Companions, and has already killed at least three dragons around Skyrim. Sounds like a regular up-and-coming hero."

Jonna chuckled, and played with her nails. Marcus just looked down at his bread, and continued munching away. There was no reason for him to hold back his identity, but there was no reason for him to reveal it either, so he kept silent.

Marcus swallowed the last of his bread, and stood up. "Well, I best be going."

Jonna shrugged, "Sure, leave. Everyone always does."

Ignoring the comment, Marcus walked out of the inn, and made for the Longhouse. As he walked along the road, he saw another woman coming the other way. She was extremely pretty, with long black hair, and a slender frame.

As soon as she looked at Marcus, she froze, and stared. Marcus faltered slightly, and quickly averted his gaze. Newcomers must be really rare in Morthal, it seemed, if Marcus' presence garnered such a reaction. As he walked past, he could feel her eyes drilling into the side of his head. Marcus instantly felt very self-conscious, being under the unwavering gaze of such an attractive woman. He scooted past, and continued toward the Longhouse, not looking back.

 _Was there something wrong with my face?_ Marcus thought, wishing he had a mirror to check his face for marks or smudges.

Entering the Longhouse, Marcus was met with the sight of three people discussing something serious at the far end. One was Jarl Idgrod, sitting on her throne, another was some Imperial general, and the other was probably the steward. As Marcus approached, their conversation was cut short, and they looked at him expectantly.

Marcus said, "Um… I'm here to deliver a package to Idgrod from Danica in Whiterun."

The Jarl frowned, and shook her head, "that's not for me, that's for my daughter, Idgrod the Younger. She uses the medicine to care for her little brother."

"Oh, do you know where I can find her?"

The Jarl stroked her chin thoughtfully, "she left this building only a few minutes ago, probably going for a walk or something. She's got black hair, dark eyeliner, and a tall, slender frame. You should be able to spot her soon enough."

Marcus nodded his thanks and walked away. The Jarl had literally just described the woman that had stared at him this morning on his way here. It was going to be very awkward walking up to her and actually talking to her.

"It's never simple..." muttered Marcus to himself.

After emerging from the Longhouse, Marcus headed for the bridge to the mill, since that was where Idgrod the 'Younger' seemed to be heading last he saw her. He found her sitting on the side of the bridge, looking out at the water. Marcus walked up behind Idgrod and coughed quietly. She turned and gasped as she saw him standing there. He smiled, and tried to look friendly. Idgrod just stared, looking afraid.

"Um…" Marcus began uncertainly, "I'm Marcus. I have something to deliver for you."

"Um… w-what is i-it?" Idgrod stammered.

Marcus took out the pouch that Danica had given him, and handed it over. As soon as Idgrod had a hold of it, Marcus turned and made movements to walk away, eager to escape the awkwardness of the situation, especially since he didn't know what was making it awkward.

"Wait..." Idgrod called, reaching out to Marcus as he began to walk away. He turned and looked back, raising his eyebrows.

"I… I need to tell you something..." she said quietly.

"I'm all ears." Marcus replied, hoping that she would tell him why she'd been acting so strange around him.

"I… I had a dream about you."

"What?" Marcus frowned in disbelief. Something like that wasn't what he expected to hear from someone so… pretty, especially when that someone was a complete stranger whom he'd never seen before.

Idgrod spoke in an exasperated tone, desperate for Marcus to take her seriously. "It's more of a vision, I think. Please understand that I'm being serious. I've had these before, and I think this town needs your help."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Marcus said, thinking on the words Delphine had told him last he'd met her in Riverwood, "If you knew who I really was, you'd understand that most of Skyrim needs my help, apparently."

Idgrod frowned at that statement, but chose to ignore it. "I… I believe that the town might be attacked, if you don't do something."

"Ok..." Marcus nodded slowly, digesting the information. It was a lot to believe from a complete stranger. "Putting aside the credibility of this 'vision' of yours, what makes you think this is solely my responsibility?"

"I… I don't know," Idgrod shrugged sadly, "I just know that you brought back the head of a vampire leader, and a crisis was averted."

 _Bloody hell,_ Marcus thought, _Sounds like I'm being wrapped up in some minor prophetic thing. That can't be good._

Marcus scratched the back of his head, "Umm… I don't know what to say..."

"Please!" cried Idgrod, "just… do something, do whatever you can to find out what's wrong… please! If you don't do this… people will die."

"Look," Marcus said, raising his hands up and patting the air to calm her. Idgrod seemed to be getting fairly frantic and worried. "I'll do what I can. I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best to find out the threat."

"I..." Idgrod deliberatly stopped herself, and took a deep breath to calm down, "thank you. Thank you very much."

"You're... welcome."

Marcus turned and headed back down in the town. If he was going to investigate what was wrong with Morthal, the tavern would probably be a good place to start.

"Tell me again about that house fire," Marcus asked Jonna.

She shrugged, "It was Hroggar's house. He managed to survive basically unscathed, and claimed it was a hearth fire, but many people don't believe him. They think he did it himself."

"But why would he burn down his own house, with his wife and child inside?" Marcus couldn't believe someone would do that.

"Well…" Jonna lowed her voice, "he's living with Alva now, and that started the very day after the fire."

"Divines..." muttered Marcus, his eyes wide.

"I know," Jonna nodded, "it ain't right moving in with a new love the day after your kin die so tragically..."

"I'll say," mumbled Marcus, frowning deeply.

"Well, the Jarl would certainly like to know what happened. Would certainly pay for any information."

Marcus nodded, and thanked her for the information, and headed to the Jarl's Longhouse. He didn't know what any of this might have to do with a vampire, but it probably wouldn't hurt to investigate. It was certainly the strangest thing to happen lately, from what he could gather.

As Marcus walked up to the Jarl, still on her throne, the old woman spoke. "Did you have further business?"

"I've been told you're looking for someone to investigate the burned house."

"Ah yes," the Jarl nodded, "it has been a concern, since many people think Hroggar set the fire himself."

"But why would he do that to his own family?" Marcus couldn't understand it.

The Jarl shrugged, "Lust can make a man do the unthinkable. The ashes were still warm when he pledged himself to Alva, and even I find that suspicious."

Marcus asked, "What would you have me do?"

The Jarl thought for a moment, then nodded to herself. "Search the remains of the house, you might find something. Sift through the ashes that others are afraid to touch, young man, and if you prove Hroggar either guilty or innocent, I'll reward you."

Marcus nodded, turned, and walked out of the building. As soon as he was out of the door, he was met by the sight of an anxious Idgrod the Younger.

"Well?" she asked expectantly, "have you found out anything?"

Marcus frowned, and raised his hands in defence "it's been only half an hour since you first told me about this whole thing, ok? This will take a bit of time."

"But… we don't know how much time we have, they could attack tomorrow, for all we know!"

Marcus sighed, and rubbed his head, "Listen, I'm working this as fast as I can, but I'm no genius. I'm piecing together what I can form, but I'm no miracle-worker. If you're really worried, talk to the Jarl about it… maybe get some defences set up or something."

Idgrod looked at the ground. "Mother will never take me seriously, she doubts the reality of my visions."

"Hmmm," Marcus hummed to himself, then shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you at this point. As soon as I learn about anything relating to vampires, I'll let you know. Maybe just take care of your little brother for the time being. I'll seek you out when I have something."

As Marcus began walking away, Idgrod called out to him. "You know… my mother hasn't ever taken my visions seriously, and I've known her my whole life. Why did you believe me straight away, especially about something this crazy?"

Marcus turned 90 degrees, and looked at her over his shoulder, with a wearied look on his face. "Because it fits the trend my life's been taking recently, rather perfectly."

Then he turned back, and kept walking, leaving Idgrod wondering who on Nirn he was.

* * *

Marcus knelt down in the remains of Hroggar's house, and searched around. There was little to find. Everything was ash. It was hard to believe such damage could have started from spilling fat in a fire. On that note, how did the fire spread out of control? A hearth fire is relatively easy to contain, and most households usually have a bucket of water nearby in any event. Why wouldn't they have run out of the building as the fire spread, as well? Much of this didn't add up. Marcus didn't blame the townsfolk for being suspicious.

Marcus imagined how it must have felt for the daughter, the little girl. Burning alive… he shuddered. Not a good way to go, especially not for someone that young.

He saw something glint, and brushed aside a pile of ash, finding a small necklace. He held it up. It was silver, or at least coloured that way. It was for someone with a very small neck, either an old woman, or a young girl. Marcus was about to put it back down, when he heard humming behind him.

He turned, and fell backwards in shock. Standing in the corner of the room, was the ghost of a little girl. "By Aetherius..." he muttered, eyes wide. The girl didn't seem to notice him, just kept humming to herself. Slowly, Marcus got to his feet and approached her.

He said, "Who are you?"

The little girl looked up, "I'm Helgi. But Daddy says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers… Are you a stranger?"

Marcus thought for a second. He needed to know what this ghost knew. If it was Hroggar's daughter like he suspected, she could tell him what really happened, "No, I'm a friend. Do you know what happened here? How your house burned down?"

Helgi thought for a second, "the smoke woke me up, it was hot and I saw scared, so I hid. Then it got cold and dark. I'm not scared anymore."

"Did you see how it started?" Marcus asked.

The little girl ignored his question, and asked one of her own, "I'm lonely, will you play with me?"

"If I do, will you tell me who started the fire?"

The girl's ghostly face brightened. "Ok! Let's play hide and seek. If you find me, I'll tell you." She held a finger up in front of her, as Marcus began to walk away. "We'll have to wait for nighttime though, the other one is playing too, and she can't play until then."

Marcus frowned, and took a step closer, "what other one? Who are you talking about?"

"I can't tell you," the little girl leaned forward in a whisper, "she's so close, she might hear me. If you find me first, I can tell you."

Helgi's ghost began to fade. "Wait!" shouted Marcus, "I need to know -"

But it was too late, the ghost had dissipated.

 _Well…_ Marcus thought to himself, standing up and dusting off his legs. He knew what he had to do next. He had to play a game of hide and seek with a little ghost girl after dark. Lovely.

Marcus entered the Longhouse once more in the late evening, and looked around for Idgrod. The younger one. He found her in an upstairs, pouring out an amount of medicine for a young boy as he sat on the end of a bed. Marcus entered the room, but when he saw she was occupied he simply stayed in the doorway.

Idgrod looked up, and smiled briefly, "I'll be with you in a second."

She looked back at the boy, and finished pouring a bottle of a strange yellow liquid into a small glass. She brought it over to the him. The little boy wrinkled his nose in disgust at it.

"Not that stuff, it tastes horrible."

"Joric..." Idgrod said in a motherly tone, putting her hands on her hips, "do you want the dreams to get better, or worse?"

Joric mumbled something grudgingly, and took the cup from her. He put it to his lips and tipped it back, and made an exaggerated, swallow/gag.

"Show me," Idgrod said firmly, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Aaaah" Joric said, opening his mouth wide and showing her that he did indeed swallow the entire cup.

"Good," Idgrod smiled, "off you go."

Joric jumped off the end of the bed, and walked past Marcus out of the room. The young boy fixed his eyes on the man as he walked past, frowning with curiosity. Then he was gone, leaving Marcus and Idgrod alone.

Marcus coughed quietly, "if you don't mind me asking, what illness does he have?"

Idgrod sighed, and rubbed her face, "The same one as the rest of us, only worse. His visions are much more erratic, waking him up at night with predilections of monsters, and worse. We use the medicine to 'dampen' them, to give him a chance to live a slightly normal life. As it is, most people think he's mad." She sighed, gazing out the doorway Joric left through, "it's deep-seated, so the medicine doesn't do much."

"I see, and you take care of him regardless?"

She nodded, "Yes. It takes up much of my time, and it makes little difference, but I'm proud to do it."

She set her jaw firmly, daring Marcus to contradict her choice of spending her waking hours helping someone else, however futile it might be. Marcus just smiled.

"I think that's very noble of you," he said.

"Oh… um..." Idgrod was taken aback. Mostly, people criticized her for wasting her youthful years caring for an apparently 'mad' boy. "Thank you."

Marcus took a breath, and spoke. "Anyway, I need some help. I searched through the remains of Hroggar's house."

Idgrod said, "Have you found something? What were you doing there? What would that have to do with vampires?"

Marcus shrugged, not wanting to get Idgrod too invested in the idea, "I'm investigating the strange occurrences in Morthal, which I think has the best chance of revealing whatever threats may bring it harm. This seemed like an ok place to start."

"I see..." Idgrod nodded, "that's probably the best idea, I think. What did you need help with?"

"Well..." Marcus found it hard to put it into words that wouldn't make him sound crazy. "I found a ghost, I think it's the ghost of Hroggar's daughter, it… it wants me to place hide and seek with it after dark."

Idgrod nodded, then waited for Marcus to continue.

"Wait," he said frowning at her, "you're ok with that?" He pointed at himself, "you believe me?"

"Marcus," she said, "I don't think you understand how thin the barrier between our world and that of spirits is here in Morthal. We're used to the supernatural, or at least are well-aware of it. What you just said doesn't sound too far-fetched."

"Huh," Marcus said, looking at Idgrod in a new light, "well, the reason I came to you, is I need help finding out where the girl might be hiding."

Idgrod chewed her lip, thinking hard, then walked toward the door. She made a 'come with me' gesture with her hand, deep in thought. Marcus followed.

"I have a vague idea," she was saying, rubbing her delicate chin, "only a hunch really."

"Well," Marcus moved his arms out wide, open palms, "it's more than I have."

"Just let me grab a few things." Idgrod went into her room, and closed the door. Marcus sat down on a seat outside, and fiddled with his hands while he waited. He heard footsteps to his right, and turned. Joric was there, looking at him with a thoughful gaze.  
"You're different, aren't you? Not like anyone else. Not in Morthal, or in Skyrim."

Marcus gave the boy a long look, debating whether or not to tell him, then nodded, once. "You are correct." Then he looked away, back at his hands. After a second, he looked back at Joric. The boy was about to walk away.

Marcus said, "don't let anyone tell you you're crazy, Joric, because you're not."

The body didn't answer, just nodding slowly and walking away. Marcus went back to picking at his nails. Half a minute later, Idgrod came back out, wearing clothing more suited for moving about than the casual dress she had on earlier. She was wearing leather pants and a jerkin, with a small dagger at her waist. The clothing seemed… tight, for lack of a better word. Marcus couldn't help but wonder if they was they way they were intended to be worn, or if they had simply been bought when Idgrod was younger, and smaller.

"Is that all really necessary?" Marcus asked, "where exactly are we going?"

"I said the spirit world is present here," she replied, "I didn't say it was benevolent."

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Marcus said doubtfully, gesturing to the dagger.

"What is there to know about swiping at something?"

Marcus didn't bother saying anything in response to that, but guessed that she could probably handle herself. The two walked outside, and headed for the bridge, Idgrod in the lead.

Marcus asked, "So, where are we going anyway?"

Idgrod replied, "The cemetery, up on the hill behind the town."

"What makes you think the ghost will be there?"

Idgrod said sadly, "It... was difficult to identify anything after the fire, but it's not hard to recognize a burnt, shriveled corpse that size, so Helgi was buried after the events."

Marcus looked down to the side, no child should have to die like that. "So you think Helgi wants us to find her actual body, not wherever her ghost decides to manifest?"

She nodded, "Yes, I think that's what was meant. In the few dealings I've had with spirits, they tend to say what they mean, but not entirely in the words that would be intuitive."

Marcus hadn't really had many dealings with spirits, but he remembered the way Kodlak had spoken. He'd been straightforward, but had certainly been more… poetic, with his language. As if he was reciting from some kind of poetic edda, rather than simply conversing. Helgi hadn't spoken like that, but Marcus had no doubt that the connection to Aetherius affected different people in different ways.

They walked up the snowy path to the graveyard halfway up the hill behind Morthal. When they got there, Marcus noticed that one of the coffins was partially dug up.

"See that?" Marcus asked, pointing at the coffin.

"Yeah..." Idgrod said, frowning. She wondered who would dig up a coffin, in Morthal of all places. It was as provocative to the spirit world as one could get.

The two walked a little closer, to examine the scene. Idgrod looked down at the coffin, stroking her chin. Marcus glanced around. Something didn't feel right. He felt like he was being watched, like they were being watched, rather. He didn't like this feeling, and gazed around at the darkness.

Idgrod looked up at Marcus' distracted face. "What's wro-"

Marcus suddenly grabbed her and yanked her backward, causing her to yelp in surprise. A fraction of a second later, a large shard of magical ice flew through the space she'd previously occupied, and embedded itself in a tree behind them. Marcus whirled around to the direction the spell had come from, not knowing exactly where, but knowing enough from the trajectory to be able to make his next move.

Extending his arm quickly, he unleashed a gout of fire in the direction the spell came from. The spell melted much of the snow and lit the grass alight, covering the area in bright light. A hiss was heard, and a figure rolled out of the shadows to avoid the fire.

It was a woman, with glowing eyes and bared fangs, and blood-red magic swirling in her left hand. A vampire, no doubt. Marcus drew his sword and dagger, and gently pushed Idgrod to stand behind him. The vampire began running forward, unleashing whatever magic was in her right hand at Marcus. He felt the effects instantly, as if his heart was slowly being choked, and red energies began flowing out of him, into the vampire's hand. It was immensely painful, and Marcus struggled to breath.

Ignoring the terrible pain and feeling of discomfort in his chest, he walked forward quickly, and lunged at the vampire with his sword, desperate to cancel the spell the vampire was using. Showing immense speed, it leapt to the right, and darted forward with its dagger. Marcus brought his own dagger around on an intercept path, and partially blocked her thrust. It didn't deflect the blade, but it slowed it down to the point where it harmlessly scraped against the new matted steel covering his stomach.

Marcus' sword arm was still extended in front of him, so he flicked it to the right, and slashed the vampire across the throat, now that it was much closer. The undead woman stumbled back, and clutched at her throat, blood leaking through the fingers. The vampires hissed again, angrily, and lunged forward, seemingly not caring about the mortal wound it had received. Marcus stepped to the side, and deflected the blade away with his sword, before stepping in closer and ramming his dagger into the woman's heart. The vampire angrily stared into Marcus' eyes, before dying.

Marcus stepped away, and the body fell to the floor.

Idgrod gasped. "You… you killed it."

"Evidently."

Idgrod looked at the ground, shame-faced. "I'm sorry I didn't help."

Marcus shrugged, "no harm, no foul. You're not very experienced, so it's hard for you to know how and when to act. Let's examine this coffin."

They walked up to the coffin, and knelt down to look closer, then the voice of Helgi spoke out.

"You found me! Laelette was trying to find me too, but I'm glad you found me first. Laelette was told to burn Mommy and me, but she didn't want to. She wanted to play with me for ever and ever."

Marcus glanced sideways at Idgrod at this, she glanced back with a perturbed look. Clearly, they both wondered why an adult would have such an unhealthy obsession with a little girl.

Helgi continued, "She kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold the fire didn't even hurt. She thought she could keep me, but she can't, I'm all burned up. I'm tired now, I'm going to rest."

Marcus sighed sadly, and patted the wood on the coffin gently. He said, "Sleep, child. Let your soul rest."

He sighed again, not only did the little girl have to die, but she also had to have a vampire obsessing about her. And now, after all that, poor Helgi couldn't even venture on to Aetherius. Whatever event that caused Idgrod's vision, was deeply tied into whatever occurred with Hroggar's family. This vampire Laelette was proof of the connection.

 _Now to figure out how Laelette became a vampire,_ Marcus thought.

Then he heard a voice behind him.

"Laelette! It can't be!"

Marcus turned and spotted one of the men he'd seen earlier on his travels through the town. He was staring at the vampire corpse with a look of horror on his face, shaking his head back and forth.

"Who are you?" Marcus asked. The man didn't respond, he just kept looking at the body and mumbling incoherently.

"He's called Thonnir," Idgrod said, walking up beside him and patting him on the shoulder. "Laelette was his wife."

"Oh..." Marcus looked down, "I'm sorry, Thonnir."

Thonnir shook his head, "I can't believe it… she was a vampire, my Laelette was undead..."

Marcus took a step forward. "What can you tell me about your wife?"

"I..." Thonnir shook his head to clear his mind, "I thought she left to join the Stormcloaks, I had no idea she was..."

"Did anything strange happen before she left?" Idgrod asked, "Did you notice anything weird?"

Thonnir shook his head, "No… I don't think so… I -"

Idgrod walked forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, "Thonnir listen! This is serious! Morthal might be in serious danger from vampires, so we need to know anything that you can think of. We can't let this same fate befall anyone else in the town, so focus1"

Marcus was startled by this outburst from Idgrod. Clearly she had a particularly personal reason for wanting the vampires dealt with. Apart from her hometown being destroyed, that is.

Thonnir looked at the angry, dark haired woman, and swallowed. He thought hard for a second, and then raised his head, "I think… I think I remember being confused as to why she was spending so much time with Alva, when just a week beforehand, Laelette despised her."

Thonnir thought for another second, then a dawning realization came across his face, "Actually, the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet with Alva. I was later told by her that Laelette never showed up. I never… I never even got to say goodbye."

The man choked up, and tears formed in his eyes as he looked at his wife's corpse once more. Marcus felt pity for the man. He'd lost his wife, and never got to tell her how much she'd probably meant to him. Another family torn apart. Another set of hopes never realized.

However… if Thonnir hadn't noticed anything else about his wife, about how she didn't react to the sunlight or had strange eyes, then Laelette probably wasn't a vampire before that final night. Which meant she either met a vampire in the marshland, or Alva was responsible…

Marcus walked forward, and gazed over Morthal. "I think they might have ended up meeting after all."

Thonnir looked at him, "You think… Gods! You think Alva is a vampire?!"

Marcus gazed the stricken man in the eyes, "it's a possibility I can't ignore."

Idgrod spoke up, "it would make a lot of sense, and tie up a few other questions."

Thonnir shook his head violently, "No! That can't be true! Laelette must have met her fate out in the marsh. I refuse to believe Alva had anything to do with this."

The man shook his head again, and turned away, heading back down into the town. He'd probably come to bury his wife properly in the morning. Marcus and Idgrod glanced at each other, then started walking back into town.

"It's probably Alva," said Idgrod slowly, as they walked.

"Yeah," Marcus replied, "it explains Hroggar's house, since if Alva wanted him as a thrall, she could've told Laelette to burn the house down."

Idgrod nodded, chewing on her lip once more, "It'd also explain something else, about how I rarely see her out and about in the daytime, and how I often see her out during the night."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, "You see her at night? So you spend a lot of time out after dark too? Should I be worried about you being a vampire as well?"

Idgrod shot him a look, a 'that's not funny' look. Marcus shrugged in apology. She sighed, "No… it's just that walks often help me when I have nightmares… or visions."  
Marcus looked sideways at her, seeing her forlorn look. "Those visions really bother you, don't they?"

Idgrod looked like she was going to deny it, but after gazing into Marcus' eyes, she just nodded and breathed out, "it makes every restful sleep almost a chore to achieve, it makes me jump at shadows and lie awake for hours on end many nights."

Marcus nodded solemnly at the floor, "I know what that feels like. I had… a similar condition up until a week ago."

"You had visions?"

"No," Marcus shook his head smiling, "but I definitely had something that kept me from restful sleep."

They continued walking until they got to just outside the Longhouse. They both entered an awkward silence, unsure what to say about what they were going to do next.

"I should probably go inside," she said eventually, gesturing with a thumb to the Longhouse, "Joric probably needs me to help put him to sleep."

"No worries," Marcus said with a smile, "go ahead."

"What's next for you?" Idgrod asked tentatively.

Marcus breathed out, and put his hands on his hips, staring out at the mass of houses around the water. "Well, if what you said about Alva doing nighttime walks it true, she won't be home right now. If you could just point me to her house…?"

Idgrod pointed at one slightly larger house in the distance. Marcus nodded, "Right, I'll go do some 'investigating'."

Idgrod gasped, "You're going to break in?"

"No," Marcus chuckled, "odds are, Alva has a lock on her door greater than anything I can pick."

"Oh," Idgrod breathed sigh of relief, "good."

Marcus' next words removed such relief, however. "I'll just knock and get Hroggar to open up the door for me, then I'll clobber him over the head and have a good rummage around."

With those words, Marcus strolled off in the direction of Alva's house. Idgrod went to say something, to tell him to stop, or at least be careful, but decided against. He probably knew more about this than her, so she should just trust him. Still, she didn't like the idea of being an accomplice to a break-in.

After breathing out a sigh, Idgrod turned around, and was met with the sight of Alva walking up behind her. Idgrod smiled, and tried to look normal. However, Alva wasn't really focusing on Idgrod, her eyes were on the figure of Marcus walking away in the distance.

Alva smiled slyly, "Who was the man you were just chatting with?"

Idgrod stammered, "Um... just a friend, he's new in town."

"Is that so?" Alva pursed her lips, "well, maybe he needs someone to show him the more… agreeable sights in town."

"I… I don't think he's staying in town for long." Idgrod felt very wary around this woman, in light of the recent revelation they'd had to her true nature.

Alva chuckled, "Well, I might be able to help him come up with a reason to stay..."

Idgrod frowned at the insinuations, "Aren't you with Hroggar? Why would you want to do that?"

"Well," Alva cocked her head to the side, "there's a number of reasons, but chief among them is how… different he is. I noticed when he walked past me earlier today. He has an… aura, you could say. A very unique aura. The way he moves, the way he talks..."

Idgrod looked at the ground, thinking. Regardless of Alva's intentions, she was speaking the truth at this moment. Marcus did have a certain strange 'stature' to him. A type of casual, yet frighteningly intense personality.

Avla said, "Hroggar is good to me, but a lady sometimes desires something more… substantial, and I have a feeling that man might be able to provide that."

"I… you..." Idgrod didn't know what to say. A potential vampire was discussing Marcus' availability as a romantic partner. What do you say to that?

"Anyway," Alva shrugged while smiling, "This is all a bit above you, I think. I won't bother you with talks about the intricacies of men, you wouldn't understand."

Then Alva strutted off, toward the bridge on the far side of town, leaving Idgrod with burning cheeks and an irritated expression. All of sudden, Idgrod really hoped Marcus would find something incriminating in Alva house.

Marcus reached up and knocked on the door to Hroggar's house. After a few seconds, it opened, and revealed the wary face of Hroggar.

"What do you want, stranger?" Hroggar asked suspiciously.

Marcus replied, "It's about Alva."

Hroggar immediately opened up the door completely, and asked quickly, "What is it? Is she alright? She just left then, has something happened to my sweetness?"

"It's ok, she isn't dead."

Hroggar breathed out a sigh of relief.

Marcus continued, "But... she's pretty close to it, therein lies the problem."

Then Marcus reached forward and punched Hroggar in the throat. The man fell backward, gasping like a fish. Marcus walked inside and closed the door behind him, then reached down and grabbed Hroggar by the front of his shirt.

Marcus said plainly, "Where does Alva go during the day?"

"Go fuck yourself!" Hroggar shouted, kicking and swinging wild punches at him.

Marcus sighed, then grabbed Hroggar's head in two hands, and slammed it against the floorboards twice quickly. The man's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell unconscious.

Marcus stood up and breathed out quickly, then began searching around. He didn't immediately see anything vampire related. Briefly, Marcus worried that he may have made a mistake. He glanced down at Hroggar's body. If Alva wasn't actually a vampire, he may have dug himself into a bit of a hole. That said, he hadn't searched the whole place yet.

Marcus walked down the stairs to the basement, and opened up the door.

"Ah..."

Inside, was a fairly normal cellar layout, with barrels and other storage items. However, in the centre of the room, was a large coffin, open. Bingo.

Marcus walked up to it. Inside, along with a pillow, was a small book. Alva's journal. Perfect. He flicked it open and gave it a read. As he scanned the pages, Marcus' heart quickened. This was bad.

Marcus burst out of Alva's house and sprinted to the Jarl's Longhouse. It seems that everything in Idgrod's dream was a very accurate prediction of what was to come very soon. In fact, it seemed like the 'attack' she'd envisioned would become reality in a matter of days. A large group of vampires had had their eyes on Morthal for a long time, and they were really close to achieving their goal.

Marcus barged through the door of the Longhouse and interrupted a conversation the Jarl was having with her steward about taxes.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked with indignation on her face.

Marcus held up the notebook, panting from the sprint over. "I really, really think you should look at this."

He handed the book over, and watched as the Jarl muttered in horror when she scanned her eyes across the pages. After a minute, she handed the book to her steward and looked up.

Marcus said, "It was Alva, she set the fire, and now she intends to enslave the town."

The Jarl grunted angrily, "the traitorous bitch… Young man, Morthal owes you a great debt. I will see to it that you are given a reward post-haste."

Marcus bowed his head in thanks, "What about the vampires? What about this… Movarth the book mentions?"

Idgrod nodded, "He's a master vampire I believed had been destroyed a century ago. I'll gather some able-bodied warriors to go and clear out Movarth's lair. They'll be ready to fight by tomorrow morning."

Marcus thought for a second, then nodded at the Jarl once, "I'll go with them."

The Jarl raised her eyebrows, "Are you sure? We won't turn down the help, but you've already done more than enough."

"I'm sure. I'll meet them outside this building tomorrow morning." Marcus nodded once and turned to leave. He was just about to go out the door when he heard Idgrod the Younger call out to him, and beckon him over from the upper level. As Marcus walked over he saw the worried look on her face.

"I heard everything," she said, eyes full of concern, "are you sure you want to do this?"

Marcus nodded, "I'm as good of a fighter as any of these people, so my help will be advantageous."

"But..." Idgrod frowned, "this is incredibly dangerous… many of you might die."

"It's a master vampire, surrounded by subordinates. I'd expect that to be the case."

"But you don't know how many you'll be fighting, or how strong those subordinates will be."

"I know."

Idgrod groaned in frustration, and gestured at Marcus "Don't you get it?! This could result in your messy, brutal death! You've done your part, you don't have to do this for anyone! You fulfilled the bargain to both the Jarl, and to me. You don't have to do this."

Marcus sighed, and sat down on a chair. His armor and weapons clinked as he did so. "Idgrod… I want to see this through to the end. I want to make sure the story of Helgi and her mother isn't repeated. I want them avenged. I want to make sure the people of this town no longer jump at shadows. Whatever the vampires are doing is keeping Helgi and her mother from passing on as well. If it's within my power to fix that, then fix it I will."

Idgrod didn't say anything, she just cast her eyes at the ground. She'd never known someone like this. Who would risk so much for strangers?

"Hell," Marcus shrugged, "even if it isn't within my power, I'll still give it my best shot."

Idgrod looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. She wanted to stroke his face, to comfort the brave soul that had heard her fears and acted on them. Marcus had become her friend, he'd saved her life and treated Joric with respect. He'd been everything that she wished the people in her life were.

Marcus sighed and stood up, eager to get some rest in the inn before the inevitable fight tomorrow. He patted Idgrod on the side of the shoulder, "go get some rest, it'll be fine."

Then he walked down the stairs to the front door. Idgrod softly called down to him as he went.

"Please come back alive..."

Marcus got to the door, before he looked back up at her worried face.  
"No promises."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Marcus seems to hate promises, doesn't he? I wonder why that is…**

 **Anyway, chapter 12 will clear up this little adventure. I figured I'd give Idgrod the Younger a bit of attention, seeing as she one of the few NPC's that doesn't look like a potato, but has critically little to do with anything. Pretty, dark, troubled, in desperate need of a hero… she ticks all the boxes.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	12. Chapter 12

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 12 – Vampire Hunter

Marcus woke early. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep. Getting into a fight was fine when it sort of happened in an instant, and he didn't have much time to consider the fact, but when he knew it was coming, the anxiety made it hard to relax. He had a short breakfast, not really being able to eat much, then went and waited outside the Jarl's Longhouse for the rest of these 'able bodied men' to show up. At around 8am in the morning, they all turned up. Marcus was surprised to see Thonnir part of the group.

Aside from him, there were only three other townsfolk. They didn't look like they were up for taking on a master vampire in his own lair. There was a woman, maybe in her late thirties, with a steel dagger, a man in iron armor with a battleaxe, Thonnir with his war axe, and a bearded man with an iron sword.

"Are we really all that the Jarl was able to spare?" Marcus asked, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief.

Thonnir nodded, "the guardsmen are needed to help reinforce the town in case the vampires attack."

"Don't they know that the vampires will attack only if we're not successful? There's no reason to prepare for plan B, when such preparation compromises plan A."

The group looked at each other. What Marcus was saying made sense, but it wasn't really their decision.

"Whatever," Marcus sighed, he wasn't particularly expecting today to be a good day, so this wasn't surprising, "Do we know where we're going?"

Thonnir nodded, "According to journals of the past Jarls, Movarth apparently used to hole up in a cave complex northwest of here, so it's safe to assume he'll be set up there." The man looked down at his feet, and clenched his fists. He looked up and whispered in a low voice to Marcus, "I will finally have my vengeance for Laelette."

Marcus nodded at the man in affirmation, then looked at the rest of the group.

"Unless anyone has anything they need to do, like writing a will, we should get going."

The group headed out of Morthal, heading for the vampire lair. Idgrod watched them go, her eyes lingering on the figure of Marcus, leading out front. If he didn't come back, then it meant that the first dream sequence would become true. It meant that the buildings around her would burn, townsfolk would become cattle to a hoard of vampires, and Joric would die. If he did come back, it meant that they could continue to live the lives they currently had.

He'd seemed to dependable, yet so compassionate. The words she'd heard him say to Joric while she listened at the door when she was 'changing' indicated as such. Then he'd killed a vampire without seemingly even faltering. Then he'd gone and retrieved irrefutable evidence of a vampire plot, and now was leading a force to defend them. And after all that, she didn't even know his second name, nor where he came from.

They're lives depended solely on Marcus, on one man. She wished she could do something to help him, something that would make it a bit easier for him, but she couldn't. Idgrod knew she couldn't fight, nor could she cast spells. She knew a bit about medicine, but that was it. She felt so helpless.

As Marcus' figure receded into the distance, her vision of him blurred as tears began to fill her eyes.

* * *

"This looks like it," Marcus said, as he walked up the mouth of the cave. There were stacked piles of stones around the entrance, and most were smeared with blood. Across the ground, was the occasional skull or assorted bone from whoever was unfortunate to pass by this place. The path underground was dark, but he could see a little bit of light up ahead. It looked like the most uninviting place on Nirn, which meant that, counterintuitively, it was precisely where Marcus knew he had to go.

Behind him, some of the group began to mumble amongst themselves.

"That place looks really, dark..."

"Yeah, kind of scary too..."

"And it's supposed to be full of vampires?"

The group began to shift nervously, none of them willing to voice their thoughts. Thonnir turned around and looked angrily at them.

"Cowards!," he shouted, "We must kill the vampires! We need to make them pay!"

The woman shifted her feet, and gestured toward Marcus, "Well… sure, but why not let him go in first? He looks like he could handle the first couple."

The others, except Thonnir, muttered their agreement. Marcus stared back at them, brow furrowed. He didn't like what he was hearing, but he understood where their fears were coming from. He'd already gone down into multiple caves and dungeons, whereas they were simply just townsfolk running on bravado and thin words, with no experience in such matters.

That being said, this was the lair of a master vampire, most likely containing less powerful vampires and plenty of thralls in addition. Help would be appreciated. Marcus walked up the Thonnir, and nodded in the direction of the rest of the group, who were backing off a distance from the cave.

He said, "I've got to go in alone? Against goodness knows what?"

Thonnir shook his head vigorously. "No, you don't. They may be cowards, but I'm not. I'm going to see this through, until the end."

Marcus smiled at the man, and nodded in thanks. "You're a brave man. Let's go."

The patted each other on the shoulder, then headed down into the dark cave.

* * *

Idgrod sat on the steps of the Jarl's longhouse, drafting a letter to Danica, in an effort to organize a regular shipment of medicine to the town, not just for Joric either. She didn't need to do this herself, as she could just ask the steward or her mother to sort it, but right now she needed to occupy herself.

Her chewed nails were testament to her worry. Every second that her mind wasn't occupied, she worried about the group that had left this morning to end Movarth. She worried about Marcus. She just hoped he was able to withstand what the vampires threw at him. He looked like the type that might be able to do it, but she still felt immense anxiety.

There was commotion in the street, and Idgrod looked up. Coming down the street were three people, members of the original group that the Jarl sent out. It was far too early for them to have killed the vampire and returned, plus Marcus and Thonnir were both missing.

She ran up to them, and asked Benor in front a rapid string of questions, "What's happened? Why are you returning? Where's Marcus and Thonnir?"

The man's eyes darted from side to side, and he kicked the dirt shamefully. "We uh… it was decided that Thonnir and Marcus should go in and sort it out alone..."

"What?!" Idgrod cried, "Why in the name of Aetherius would you do that?!"

Benor and the others shifted guiltily, "We… um..."

None of them could bring themselves to admit what they'd done, as that would be admitting their own cowardice, which would serve to highlight it. Instead, they broke eye contact with Idgrod and walked their separate ways, keeping their gazes at the ground. Idgrod watched them walk off, their silence answering her questions. Marcus and Thonnir were fighting the vampires alone, with no extra support.

Part of her wanted to sprint off in the direction of the cave, to give Marcus the help that it seems so few would give. But she knew she would only serve to make his job harder. She wasn't a fighter, or a magician. The best she could do is perhaps heal his wounds when he came back. If he came back. Idgrod sighed unhappily and looked in the direction that she last saw Marcus walking. As if the situation couldn't get worse… and she could do nothing but hope.

* * *

Marcus rolled to the right, and slashed at the spider. His glass sword caught it in the leg, and severed it from its body. Thonnir got up behind it and brought his steel war axe down on its abdomen. The spider screeched and chittered in pain, and began to turn to face Thonnir behind it. Marcus took a few quick steps forward, and buried his glass sword into the top of its head. The blade sunk down into the creature, and it shivered slightly before collapsing.

Marcus pulled the sword out, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"By Ismir," muttered Thonnir, "those things are freaky."

"You said it," Marcus hummed, nodding in agreement. Frostbite spiders weren't particularly hard to take down, or at least the smaller ones weren't, but they were the stuff of nightmares.

"We should keep moving," Marcus said, "but I doubt this will be getting any easier."

Thonnir shook his head, "I don't care. I'm here to avenge my wife, and make sure no-one else in Morthal suffers the same fate."

"Very well."

The two moved further into the cave, emerging from a short tunnel into a wide, open tunnel. It was dimly lit, save for a candle on the desk.

"See him?" Thonnir pointed at the chair next to the desk, where a man in fur armor sat, staring mindlessly at the wall.

"Yeah," Marcus whispered back, "thrall." His armor was probably a bit too heavy to successfully sneak up behind the man and take him out, so Thonnir would have to do it.

Thonnir crept up behind the thrall, and readied his axe. As he raised it above the thrall's head, it twitched and began to turn its head to look behind it, sensing a presence. It was much too late however, and Thonnir's axe cleaved the thrall's head almost in half. The man didn't even have time to scream.

"For Laelette," Thonnir whispered softly, pulling his axe out of the man's head.

"Nice work," Marcus said as he came up behind him. It was a quick, effective kill, if extremely gruesome. Marcus noticed that Thonnir made efforts not to look at the sight of the man's head cleaved in two. Marcus himself found it hard to look at as well. They both checked around, and saw nothing else, so they continued through a path to the left. It started to get very dark, and Marcus heard Thonnir hit his head on the ceiling of the rock tunnel, followed by a muffled curse. He was a bit taller than Marcus, it seemed.

They spotted light up ahead, after a final bend in the tunnel. The voices of a man drifted down to them, some kind of obscure mumbling at this distance, as they couldn't hear. When they got up to the corner, they could see a large room, filled with tables on which various clothes and items were placed.

"Stay here," whispered Marcus to Thonnir, making a 'halt' gesture with his hand.

He moved up a little way, and could make out a large hole in the ground, where the voice seemed to be coming from. It said, "You've still got some gold in your pockets, don't you friend? Yes you do..."

Marcus slowly crept up the edge of the hole, but didn't peek over the edge. Instead, he waited for the man to speak again.

"This won't be doing you any good no more..." it said again, chuckling.

Now that he was close, Marcus could roughly pinpoint the position of the man in the hole from his voice. Going from a crouch to a leap, Marcus pounced into the hole, and fell onto the man from above, pushing him to the floor on his back.

The man had partially glowing eyes, and when he grimaced, underdeveloped fangs were revealed. Thus, Marcus assumed he was little more than a vampire fledgling, only newly introduced to the blood. This was lucky, as a full-blooded vampire would probably have been quick enough to avoid Marcus' next move.

Before the vampire could react, Marcus knelt down and plunged his dagger into the man's neck, before dragging it violently to the side, opening up a large tear and spraying Marcus' left arm with blood. The man gurgled, and died.

Marcus breathed out a sigh of relaxation, before realizing what he was actually surrounded by. That is, bodies. The hole was filled with corpses. Marcus' eyes went wide as the realization hit him, and he scrambled backwards out of the hole. There must have been at least 10 people there, not including the one he had just killed. Thonnir ran up upon seeing Marcus' shocked gaze.

"What's wrong Marc – By my ancestors!" Thonnir took one look at the pile of decomposing bodies and staggered backward, dry-retching. Marcus was a bit more used to the sight of corpses, but he still couldn't look at it for too long.

"I guess…" Marcus took a deep breath, "I guess we know where all the missing travelers ended up."

"My gods..." Thonnir breathed out, risking another glance at the pile of bodies, "how long have these vampires been here, attacking innocents?"

"I don't know," Marcus muttered, looking at the bodies, then up at Thonnir, "But I know it won't be for much longer."

Thonnir went to say something, but stopped himself. Then he matched Marcus' gaze, and nodded once. "Let's finish this."

The two moved through a passageway at the opposite side of the room, taking it slow and keeping low. They came across a widened, taller passageway that led into a very large room. From the darkness, they could see that in this large room, was a long banquet table. Sitting at this table, were four figures. One of them looked like a thrall, wielding a greatsword, two others seemed to be vampires, with one handed swords and axes.

The fourth figure sat at the head of the table. He was a tall man, in a strange leather armor dyed red. His weapon must have been beside him, because Marcus couldn't see it. Marcus knew instantly that this vampire had to be Movarth. The way he sat in the chair would've given it away alone… Movarth seemed like a coiled snake. Somewhat relaxed, but ready to strike at any moment.

To Marcus' left, was a wooden walkway suspended about two metres above the ground. It led to a ledge near where the passageway opened out into the room.

Marcus tapped Thonnir on the arm and pointed at it. "I'm going to head up there, and maybe get an early attack on one of those vampires. Stay in the shadows and only come out after I'm revealed."

Thonnir nodded in understanding, and watched as Marcus clambered up onto the wooden walkway.

Marcus crept along the wooden planks, taking careful effort not to trigger any creaks. Once he got to an optimal location, he eyed up his target, one of the female vampires sitting next opposite the thrall.

Marcus quickly channeled fire into his hand, lined up the shot, and threw a basic firebolt at the vampire. As the ball of flame raced across the opening, Movarth at the far end of the table saw it coming, and bolted to his feet, grabbing a weapon beside him. He moved very fast, noticing the attack, and grabbing his weapon all in the space of half a second.

The vampire Marcus had aimed at bore no such luck however, and the firebolt caught it in the upper chest. She cried out in pain, and fell backwards. The other vampires and the thrall spotted Marcus in his position, and began running at him, drawing their various weapons as they came. Marcus charged another firebolt in his hand, but didn't throw it just yet. Then Thonnir moved out of the shadows just below him, brandishing his axe and running at the oncoming vampires, a war cry in his throat. As the enemy group turned to see this new threat, their eyes were briefly taken off Marcus, who used the opportunity to throw his next firebolt at the target closest to Thonnir, the thrall. The man took it in his chest, and staggered backwards. Thonnir took advantage of the opportunity, and sprinted forward to plant his axe into the thrall's neck.

Marcus jumped down from the platform, rolling as he hit the ground in order to not break his ankles. As soon as he completed the roll, and looked up, he was met with the sight of the snarling vampire woman. She lashed out with a diagonal sword blow. He took a step to the left, before drawing his sword and deflecting her attack away in one motion fluid motion. Despite successfully avoiding the attack, Marcus could feel the strength of the blow channel through his arm, far more than he would feel if a regular bandit had made the same attack.

Marcus drew his glass dagger in his off-hand, as the vampire made a lightning quick thrust. He stepped to the side, and the blow grazed against his chest piece. He quickly jabbed is dagger through the exposed wrist in front of him, causing the woman to scream, and stagger back, clutching her hand and trying to remove the weapon. Marcus quickly leapt forward and sunk his glass sword through the black leather armor, into her chest. She gasped and fell forward.

Marcus quickly switched targets, focusing on the second vampire that was currently trading blows with Thonnir. Movarth was hanging back, leaning on his weapon, a long-bladed sword, watching the events unfurl with a smug fascination.

Marcus ran up behind the male vampire, just as he kicked Thonnir in the chest, and slashed a deep diagonal cut across the man's back. The man hissed in pain, then spun around extremely fast, and punched Marcus across the jaw, before following up with an overhead blow from his elven war-axe. Marcus was facing away from the man, but managed to raise up his left arm, and block the attack on his gauntlet. The axe bit deep into the metal, and drew a small cut on the forearm underneath, but did little else. Though, Marcus knew he'd need to get it repaired after this 'adventure' as such a block wouldn't work twice.

The male vampire raised his axe again for another blow, bringing his arm around to his side, attempting a backhand blow. While Marcus was preparing to dodge, he caught a glimpse of Thonnir behind the vampire. With a roar, Thonnir brought his axe down and nearly cut off the man's arm with a savage downward strike. The vampire bellowed in pain, before Marcus' sword jab to his throat cut off his voice. As the vampire crumpled, Marcus heard the voice of Movarth behind him.

"Bravo, mortals."

Marcus and Thonnir turned to face the master vampire, who was still leaning on his longsword.

Movarth clapped mockingly, and chuckled, "If I actually needed the help, I'd be sure to turn you both into thralls. You'd be excellent additions to my little army."

"Morthal has more guards than you do vampires," Marcus spat while glaring at the man, "you've hardly kept much of a force."

"My dear boy," Movarth laughed, "I have vampire friends hiding all over the marsh, in ruins and abandoned huts, all waiting on my signal to lay waste to that pathetic town."

"A signal that won't be coming," Thonnir growled, taking several steps forward.

Marcus followed Thonnir, eyes locked on Movarth. "You didn't even keep much of a personal guard."

Movarth laughed even harder, as Thonnir approached, with Marcus closing in on him from the other side. The vampire kept laughing until the two men were on each side of him, where he stopped abruptly.

"Fools… what makes you think I need a guard?" Movarth muttered in a sinister voice, before moving with incredible speed. He grabbed his longsword in one hand, batting away Thonnir's axe, before leaping backward, and splaying open his hand at Marcus. A thunderclap rang out, and a large lightning bolt flashed out from the hand and struck Marcus in the centre of his chest before he could react. The power of the spell blackened the entire chestplate of Marcus' armor, singeing the flesh underneath and launching him backward. He landed a few metres away, and hastily scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the pain he felt. As he turned back to face Movarth, he saw the vampire whirl away from one of Thonnir's attacks, and promptly sever the hand holding the axe with a single upward swipe.

Thonnir screamed out in pain, as one of his hands tumbled away from his body and hit the floor.

"You bastard!" Marcus shouted, casting a quick healing spell on himself, and sprinting at the vampire, drawing his dagger in his left hand, with his sword still in his right.

Thonnir went down on his knees and clutched the bleeding stump with his one remaining hand. Movarth grinned at the sight, before turning to face the charging Marcus. The vampire twirled his longsword in his right hand, before outstretching his left, about to cast another lightning spell. Marcus was prepared however, and just before the magic left the vampire's hand, he shouted.

"Fye!"

The Thu'um resonated throughout the chamber, followed almost instantly by the thunderclap of a lightning bolt. The spell passed harmlessly through Marcus' ethereal form, and struck the wall behind him. Movarth blinked at the shout, and frowned slightly. He readied his sword and swung a fast horizontal swipe at Marcus as he got close, but the ethereal shout still had at least 3 seconds left, meaning the blow passed through Marcus' chest.

Then Marcus swung his own blow at Movarth, and caught the vampire in the stomach, slashing apart some of the armor and no doubt causing a deep cut underneath. The vampire snarled in pain, and threw a rapid flurry of blows at Marcus, from a multitude of directions.

Marcus was able to block some of them, using both his dagger and sword, but some strikes got through. He got cut on his arms, cheek, and upper thigh, before Movarth finished. After his series of attacks, Movarth finished by punching Marcus full in the face, cracking his jaw and sending him flying backwards.

"Pathetic mortal," Movarth spat. He raised his arm again, intent on unleashing one last magic spell to finish of Marcus for good. Marcus tried to get onto his feet again, from his current position lying on his stomach, but could only manage to look up at the menacing vampiric figure about to disintegrate him.

Then Thonnir was there, burying his war-axe into the side of Movarth's body with his left hand. The vampire screamed in pain as the steel cut past the leather armor, and dug into the flesh. He spun around and backhanded Thonnir across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Movarth then ripped the axe out of his side, and walked over to the man.

Marcus tried to get to his feet once more, desperate to help Thonnir. He rose slightly, his mouth hanging uselessly open, pain pulsing through his entire skull from the broken jaw. He got into a kneel, and looked up.

Movarth had grabbed Thonnir by the neck, lifting him up by his left hand, the longsword still in his right. Thonnir was pale, from both exertion, fear, and blood loss. Movarth held Thonnir up high, in full view of Marcus, and ran him through with his sword, burying the blade to its hilt.

"N...ooo…" Marcus drawled, his hand out in front of him, and his jaw hanging uselessly and disfiguring his words.

Movarth drew his arm back and threw Thonnir's body across the room, landing next to Marcus with a thud. As Marcus crawled over, he could see that Thonnir was still alive, barely. Marcus desperately tried to channel healing magic into his hand, but the pulsating pain racing through his mind from multiple injuries prohibited him from doing so.

"Don't… **cough…** bother, Marcus." Thonnir rasped, "sa-save it."

"Tho...ir..." Marcus choked.

"Listen," Thonnir said, grabbing Marcus by the front of his armor and pulling him closer, "don't… don't let my… **cough** … story be repeated. Don't let this happen to anyone else..."

Then Thonnir laid back, letting out one last breath, and the light in his eyes faded away to a blank lifeless gaze. Marcus stared back. He stared into the lifeless eyes of someone that he could consider a friend. They stared back, hollow.

Another life claimed, another undeserving person dead. Another corpse filled with emotions and memories that'd never see the world. Then, slowly, Marcus moved away, and fumbled with one of the pouches on his hip for the only healing potion he'd brought from Whiterun. Pulling out the stopper, he gulped the contents down, and felt some of his wounds heal. His jaw clicked back into place, and the cuts on his arms faded.

Then, slowly, using his arms as support, Marcus clambered to his feet, and turned. Movarth was about 4 metres away, leaning on his longsword again, a cross between a snarl and a smile on his face.

"One thing you mortals never seem to lack in," he said, "is sheer stubbornness."

Marcus kept his eyes low, staring at the ground just in front of Movarth. The vampire looked at him with curiosity.

"You have spirit," Movarth said, "perhaps I will make you a thrall after all."

Then Marcus looked up, and locked his gaze with the vampire. Movarth involuntarily stepped back, seeing the blazing anger lighting up Marcus' eyes, and the incredible determination behind them.

"What hope do you even think you have!" shouted Movarth, unnerved by the lack of effect he was having on Marcus. Most mortals cowered in fear at this point, or begged. "You don't even have a weapon left!"

This was true, as Marcus' sword and dagger lay just behind Movarth, on the ground.

Marcus didn't even glance at them. "I won't need them," he said, before calling fire into both of his hands, curling them into fists, and charging the magic. But he didn't fire the spell, he just kept them in his hands, giving him two fists of fire.

Then he sprinted at Movarth, going from a standstill to a bolt in an instant. Movarth took another step back, and raised his longsword above his right shoulder, intent on cutting through Marcus with a horizontal blow when he got close.

As the swing came, Marcus turned to his left and bent over, leaving the sword to go swinging over his head. Then he straightened, and swung a powerful left hook into Movarth's jaw. As the fist connected, the fire scorched the skin around it and left the entire area blackened. Movarth may have been a strong vampire, but he was still just as weak to fire as the rest of them.

Movarth reversed the direction of his sword, and thrusted for Marcus' midsection, but in such close proximity, the weapon wasn't so effective. Marcus dodged to the right, and grabbed a hold of Movarth's arm with both hands, the fire wreathed around them scorching even more of the vampire's flesh. Then Marcus quickly straightened the arm, and turned his body so it was pointed directly over his right shoulder. Then Marcus yanked the arm downward, smashing Movarth's elbow into his shoulder. A resounding crack filled the air as Movarth's burning arm was bent in the wrong anatomical direction, and was snapped. The longsword fell from his grasp and hit the ground.

Movarth wrenched his arm from Marcus' burning grip, and staggered backwards. Marcus turned again, and walked towards him with long, measured strides. Movarth clutched his shattered arm, and snarled at Marcus, his fangs in clear view. Marcus stared back with emotionless fury, and began throwing punches.

Movarth swung his left arm at Marcus' head, so he ducked, and landed a punch into Movarth's stomach. Movarth staggered back as his stomach was scorched, but Marcus stepped forward at the same time, and landed another hit on the vampire's face, right at the temple.

Marcus never gave the vampire any room, he never let up. The fire damage from each fist, clad in steel, sent him faltering backwards each time he was hit. By the time Movarth recovered from each falter, another punch had landed.

Left hook, right jab, left roundhouse, right roundhouse, right hook, left cross, right hook. The punches never let up. Even after Marcus felt his knuckles begin to bruise, he kept going. The pain spiking in each hand after the hits landed only served to add further fuel to the raging fire behind his eyes. Finally, after one final, colossal uppercut, Movarth fell backwards and landed on the ground. His face and much of his torso was a charred mess. Marcus pounced onto him, pinning him to the floor with his knees, and wrapping his hands around the vampire's throat.

Then he took a deep breath, and shouted Fire Breath at the vampire's face from point blank range.

The Thu'um tore apart the already scorched flesh on the vampire's face, and ripped most of the soft tissue on his head off.

Movarth stopped struggling, a second after the Thu'um hit him, and laid still. Dead, in all senses of the word this time.

Marcus slowly got to his feet, and extinguished the flames in his hands. It seems Idgrod's vision wouldn't be entirely accurate. Movarth's head wouldn't end up being easily recognizable.

Marcus looked around. There were a couple passageways behind the table that he could see, so he decided to go and look through them. There was still one loose end he hadn't encountered.

Marcus found Alva in a particularly lavish section of the cave. It was outfitted like an expensive hotel room, with plenty of wardrobes, desks, and a large double bed. Alva was sitting on the bed, expectantly. As if she anticipated Marcus' arrival.

"I heard the last shout," she said, "and no other sound followed, so I'm assuming Movarth..."

"He's dead." Marcus said bluntly, "you're next."

Alva nodded, stroking her chin, thoughtfully. Then a naughty smile crossed her face, and she eyed Marcus up and down with a very 'interested' look.

"Well..." Alva said with a seductive smirk, "before you get to all that… why shouldn't you be given a chance to 'indulge' in the spoils of your victory?"

Marcus looked back at her, his face giving nothing away. His hands didn't move toward his weapons.

"After all," Alva shrugged while smiling, "you killed Movarth, which means… you're my new master."

Marcus' face remained blank. Alva stood up, and walked over to him, swaying her hips as she came. Marcus' eyes followed her as she approached. She came up close to him, pressing her lower body into his, and whispering into his ear.

Her breath was warm and husky, "If you're my new master, then I should treat you as such, shouldn't I?"

Marcus still didn't say anything, his hands still hadn't moved towards any of his weapons on his belt. Alva moved her head way from his ear, and looked him in the eyes. Her hands snaked around his neck, and slowly pulled him forward. She licked her lips, drawing his mouth towards hers.

"Come," she breathed, "fulfill your raging desire."

Then Alva felt a sharp pain in her chest, and a cold liquid dribbled down her stomach. She staggered backwards away from Marcus, and stared down. A dagger made of green and golden metal was buried into her stomach, angled upward to pierce her heart exactly. Blood was dripping down from the wound. She stared up at Marcus, who simply stared back, with the same emotionless expression as before. Then she collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Idgrod sat on the edge of the walkway near Falion's house, staring into the murky water below. It had been a long time since the cowards of Marcus' group had come back. The Jarl had spent the last several hours rallying her guardsmen and making sure they were all outfitted for a hard battle. It was as if they'd all just accepted that Marcus was dead.

Marcus. Dead. Idgrod just couldn't fathom it. He'd been there when she needed help, and delved straight into a near impossible task that she'd heaped upon him. And he'd succeeded, despite all odds. He'd uncovered an entire plot to destroy their lives, then had been sent off to deal with it, almost on his own, and it seems that, in the end, it was too much for him.

Guardsmen strolled past, patrolling the edge of the town, keeping an eye out for anyone that looked unfamiliar. Should they see any, they were to alert the other guardsmen as soon as possible, and get as many of the civilians inside buildings as soon as they could. Idgrod doubted the plan could hold up to a proper vampire attack. There had been so many in her dream…

Then there was a large amount of commotion to her left, near the Jarl's Longhouse. Idgrod stood up and walked over. There was a group of people, guards and townsfolk, pointing over in the direction of the mill with amazement. Idgrod moved over, and looked in that direction, frowning. At first she couldn't see anything.

Then, slowly, rising above the lip of the bridge and into view, was Marcus. Idgrod's face lit up like the night sky, and her hands went to her mouth to cover the giant 'O' shape it was making.

He looked a bit battered, and much of his armor was scuffed or damaged, but it was definitely him. In his left hand, to her joy, was a head. Granted, it was a lot more burnt than she'd envisioned in her dream, but it was certainly going to be the head of the vampire master.

Idgrod could hear the Jarl move out of the building behind her, to meet the young hero outside the Longhouse, just like in Idgrod's dream. Marcus smiled at Idgrod as he passed, then stopped a few meters from the Jarl. With a casual flick of his arm, he tossed the head at the feet of Jarl Idgrod and her Steward.

"I know it's kinda hard to recognize the face," Marcus said apologetically, "but trust me, that's Movarth."

"I believe you, Marcus," the Jarl replied. She then bowed to him, "we are in your debt."

"Not just my debt," Marcus replied, looking down, "Thonnir… didn't make it."

Jarl Idgrod nodded solemnly, "he will be remembered, but you should be glad his death wasn't in vain."

Marcus sighed, "Hmm, I guess."

He still felt bad about it. Thonnir didn't deserve to die. He didn't deserve any of the things that happened to him. Yet, he was dead. Marcus hoped his soul would find a happy afterlife. After everything that happened to the poor man during his life, he deserved that much.

"Well," the Jarl smiled, "this calls for some celebration."

The gathering crowd cheered. Idgrod moved forward, trying to get closer to Marcus to thank him personally, but he was swept away by the crowd in a throng of jubilant cries and cheers, as more of the townsfolk became aware that they were saved. With Marcus having no say in the matter, he was practically carried off to the inn. Idgrod went to follow, but stopped herself. She'd be able to talk to him later.

* * *

It was the following day. Marcus had been forced to participate in a great deal of partying and drinking, much to his dismay. He'd never really liked the taste of alcohol, and certainly didn't like the sensation of being drunk. He'd woken up with a slight headache, and decided that a walk in the fresh air would probably do him good.

Avoiding all the snoozing bodies lying at the tables in the inn, Marcus stepped outside. He wasn't sure why everyone else celebrated so much, considering that none of them had actually contributed to the victory, but he guessed that it was simply their way of expressing intense relief at not becoming a bunch of blood cattle.

Marcus walked over to the bridge separating Morthal from the mill. He leaned on the raised stone edge, looking out over the water, watching the insects dance amongst the early morning mist. It seems that for the first time since he'd arrived, the marsh looked peaceful, and aesthetic, instead of bleak. He heard movement behind him, but didn't turn. He knew who it was.

"Mother has been preparing a couple guardsmen squads," Idgrod said, leaning against the stone like he was, "to deal with some of the other vampires hiding out in the marsh."

Marcus shrugged, "there's probably not too much point. They won't be attacking without their leader."

Idgrod nodded, "we know, it's just to make us feel a bit more secure." She turned and looked at him. "Though, I have a feeling that as long as you're around, we'll be all right."

Marcus looked at his hands, "I don't know about that, I nearly lost it all in the caves. I almost joined Thonnir."

Idgrod laughed, "I don't think that was ever an option for you. You're too damn heroic. If you'd died in the cave, it wouldn't have made a good ending to the story, so naturally, it didn't happen."

Heroic. Marcus didn't think of himself as such, but it seems more people were taking a liking to associating him with that word. First the companions, then about half of the Morthal populace last night, now Idgrod too. It was compelling evidence, but Marcus didn't feel like a hero. A hero wouldn't have let Thonnir die. A real hero would've saved everyone. A real hero would've removed the problem before it took any lives.

"I do have one question to ask though," Idgrod said.

"What is it?"

Idgrod turned to face him entirely, "you've made a lot of hints that you're someone special, that your life has been rather… hectic, for lack of a better word. Why is that?"

Marcus sighed. Idgrod was smart, so she'd figure it out sooner or later. At this point, there was no reason to keep it hidden. To be honest, there wasn't much reason to hide the fact he was Dragonborn from the start.

Marcus breathed out, and turned to face Idgrod. "I should've told you earlier, I guess. You deserve to know, in any event. I'm… I'm the Dragonborn."

Idgrod's eyes lit up in shock, and her mouth opened slightly in surprise. She blinked, and when the eyes came back, she saw him in a different light. Then she thought for a minute, and nodded. "That makes sense."

"It does?" Marcus tilted his head, "why is that? I've never use the Thu'um in your presence, nor have I killed any dragons."

Idgrod smiled at him, "for as long as the nordic people could remember, the Dragonborn has been a hero. You fit the criteria."

"Huh," Marcus thought for a second, "you know, you're as much to thank as me. If it wasn't for you, I never would have even known there was a problem here."

Idgrod laughed quietly, "I still think you deserve more recognition. I wasn't the one who bested several powerful vampires."

They both turned away, and looked at the water, lapsing into silence. A comfortable silence, though. Dragonflies and fireflies flew across the surface of the river. The early morning sun lit up the mist covering the water, turning it golden. Everything was peaceful, and Marcus felt relaxed, for the first time in a while. He didn't feel the need to check over his shoulder, or scan the horizon for threats. It was nice.

Idgrod spoke quietly, "If you're the Dragonborn, then I guess you can't stay here in Morthal..."

Marcus sighed sadly, "No, I can't."

Idgrod nodded, "I understand. Fate calls you."

Marcus turned and looked over her features. The long black hair, the pale skin, her large dark eyes.

He said, "I wish it didn't, sometimes."

"I'd come with you… but you have your duty, and I have mine," Idgrod said wistfully, "I'll be Jarl someday, and then I'll need to care for the town, so I really shouldn't leave."

"I can't stay, and you can't leave." Marcus said sadly.

"It's not perfect," Idgrod said, turning to face Marcus and placing a delicate hand on his chest, staring at it as she ran it across the front of his armor. She could feel the warmth radiating from underneath the leather and cloth. "But just because you are needed elsewhere, doesn't mean you can't visit?"

Marcus looked at her, and smiled. "No… it doesn't."

Idgrod nodded to herself, "Good. Until then… I have this." She looked up at his face, and placed a hand on his cheek. Then, slowly, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, closing her eyes as they connected. Marcus parted his lips and kissed back. Her mouth felt so wonderfully soft to him, and he wished they could stay that way forever.

Then they parted, after no more than 5 seconds, and Idgrod smiled at him. "Best get going Marcus. I don't need a vision to tell me that you've got a big part to play in Skyrim."

Then she walked off, in the direction of the Longhouse, leaving Marcus alone on the bridge, wishing wishes he couldn't feasibly have. Thoughts raced through his head, but he knew that what was happening, was for the best. He still needed to talk to Delphine and Esbern in Riverwood, and figure out how to stop the dragon menace that threatened everyone.

Marcus sighed. After a minute, he headed back into town. He picked up his substantial reward for the Jarl, and walked out of the town before it even got to mid-morning. He felt tempted to look back, as he crossed over the last rise that would obscure the town from view, so he decided to turn. He found himself looking at the same view that had greeted him days ago.

It looked much more welcoming, and made him feel content, rather than saddened. It was a nice-looking town. Marcus smiled, then turned and continued down the road, not looking back once more.

* * *

 **Author's notes: Ahhh… such a happy ending. Or at least, it's a satisfactory ending. I'll probably have Idgrod show up in maybe one or two later chapters, and I might refer to her later on in another adventure, but for the most part she'll stay in Morthal. The majority of her part in the story has been played, the rest will probably be 'off-screen' stuff that I might refer to as happening later on. Still, no snu-snu. That'll just make it harder for Marcus to inevitably leave, as he has to. There'll end up being a lot more relationships similar to what Marcus had with Idgrod, later on with other women as well.**

 **I'll do a bit more story-centric stuff next chapter, involving Sky Haven Temple, and some character development with the Greybeards. I'll be sure to include a super-hectic fight against the Elder Dragon that always shows up too. After that, I don't know. Maybe I'll give Illia some attention…**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Notes: A couple of people have asked what the actual pairing situation with this story will be, so I've given it some thought and come up with an answer. There will be semi-intimate, almost-realized relationships with most of the NPC's in the game that I deem underdeveloped or attractive, but the only actual pairing that will be permanent or become all-encompassing will be with Serana. That won't be for a long while though, as I intend on finishing the main story and wrapping up a some of the unique companions quests I'm creating before that. If I get bored, I might speed up the process a little.**

 **Originally, I planned for this to be much more fast-tracked, covering only a couple early parts of the game, then fast-forwarding to the Dawnguard questline, but I realized that I really wanted to encapsulate the character progression of the Marcus. To show how his thought processes change over time. To demonstrate the extent that he becomes 'tortured', as would be expected from someone who spends their waking hours killing people, exploring nightmarish underground dungeons, and fighting things that most people would scream and run away from, all the while knowing that he can't feasibly share his greatest troubles with anyone. Much of this psyche is still to develop, but it's gradually building. I also wanted to cover a lot of other female NPC's that get very little attention in-game.**

 **Feel free to let me know your thoughts on this idea. I'm happy to tweak it a little, but I do want to stay true to the original vision I had in some way.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 13 – One Prophecy, One Man.

Marcus heaved open the door to High Hrothgar, and walked inside. The interior was mildly warmer than the exterior, so Marcus shrugged off some of the snow that had built up on his armour, and walked further inside. He didn't pay many visits to the greybeards, but he needed some advice and guidance.

Marcus decided it was high time he went and conversed with Esbern and Delphine about the next steps in determining the nature of the dragon menace. Initially, Marcus and Delphine had thought the dragons were some strange cosmic coincidence, or there was some mortal force was behind it, like the Thalmor. However, when Marcus found Esbern, hunkered down in the ratway, the old man had spoken about Alduin, and the end of the world. He'd said that only a Dragonborn could stop this, and thus when Marcus informed him that he was Dragonborn, Esbern seemed to act like it meant the world wasn't going to be destroyed. Thus, it was implied that Marcus would be responsible, at least to a significant extent, in saving the world.

Now, Esbern wasn't exactly the most stable of individuals it seemed, so Marcus knew he should take what the man says with a grain of salt, but it still raised questions. He knew that the appearance of the Dragonborn was closely tied in with fighting dragons, but how far did that go? As for the mentioning of Alduin, that raised more concerns. Esbern said that only the Dragonborn can stop Alduin, which apparently was the dragon Marcus had seen raising other dragons from the dead.

All in all, none of this new information boded well for Marcus, regardless of how much of it might be true or not. So, he'd decided to come to the Greybeards, a group of people Marcus knew he could trust to give him reliable information, if they felt he was ready for it.

Marcus walked through the large halls of High Hrothgar, looking for Arngeir. It was late evening, so Marcus knew most of them would be doing meditations. After another minute, he found Arngeir sitting at a chair in the living area of the temple, being still with his eyes closed. As Marcus approached, the old man opened his eyes.

"Marcus," Arngeir said, nodding in acknowledgement, "how goes your training?"

"Well enough," Marcus replied, bowing slightly to the venerable man. "I've come with some questions that I hope you could answer."

Arngeir stroked his beard briefly, and the faintest hint of a frown crossed his brow, "You know that learning too much is dangerous. I might not be able to give you what you seek."

Marcus sighed, "I know, but at this point anything you could tell me is better than nothing."

"Very well, ask away."

Marcus took a deep breath, and sat in one of the chairs near Arngeir. "I've spoken to some of the remnants of the Blades, and they've been -"

"What?" Arngeir frowned and interrupted Marcus, "you've been associating with the Blades?"

"Yes… is that a problem?"

Arngeir nodded, "the blades have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom, their reckless arrogance knows no bounds, and they love to meddle in matters they hardly understand."

Marcus frowned, "I don't know about that. They've been quite helpful to me."

Arngeir stood up and looked down at Marcus angrily, "Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades? Used for their purposes?!"

Marcus held up his hands in front of him, caught off guard by Arngeir's outburst. "Calm down Arngeir, the Blades are just helping me learn more about the Dragon situation, that doesn't mean I'm their puppet, nor does it mean I will ever be."

Arngeir's expression changed, and he calmed down, nodding. He breathed out a sigh, before sitting down. "Of… Of course not. Forgive me for being intemperate. Just… heed my words, the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they don't. They never have."

Marcus thought for a moment, then nodded. "Understood."

"Now, what was your actual question?"

Marcus nodded again, and took another deep breath, "One of these members of the Blades spoke of Alduin, the dragon that's been raising the others from the dead. They spoke of him as the end of the world."

Arngeir thought for a moment, deciding what to say and what not to say. "Alduin, the firstborn of Akatosh, was given the responsibility of ending the world, yes."

"And the same man, said that I'm the only one that can defeat him..."

Arngeir stayed quiet for a moment, then spoke slowly, with measured words, "I think you will learn of this soon enough, I do not need to tell you."

Marcus sighed, and rested his head in his hands, "How is one person supposed to save the world? If that's even what I'm supposed to do?"

"Not one person. One Dragonborn."

Marcus looked up at Arngeir. The old man was looking back at him plainly. "I don't think I'm the kind of person that can do that. There's nothing about me that would mean I'm the one who would be able to do this. Apart from the blood, what separates me from anyone else?"

Argneir shrugged, "I do not know, Dragonborn, but the Gods gave it to you for a reason. I trust their judgement, so you should too."

Marcus just sat quietly for a moment, dwelling on those words. Arngeir watched him, waiting to see if the young man had anymore questions. Eventually, Marcus just breathed out a sigh, and stood up.

"It's late," he said in a tired voice, "do you mind if I stay here for the night?"

Arngier shook his head, "Not at all."

"In the morning, I would like to know of the location of a few more words of power, if possible."

Arngeir nodded in affirmation, "Very well."

Marcus nodded his thanks in return, and walked over to an unoccupied bed to rest. Every time he came to the Greybeards for answers, he left with at least as many questions as when he came. At least he knew a little more about Alduin, and it seems that Argneir hadn't actually contradicted any of the statements that Esbern had said. That in itself was truly worrying. Marcus didn't want to be a one-off saviour of the entire world. What would happen if he failed? In the last week alone, he could count several occasions where he nearly died. What would it mean if he was just slightly unlucky, and perished in any of those events? Would the Gods choose another poor sod to make Dragonborn?

As usual, Marcus didn't have a clue. As he drifted to sleep, these thoughts and answerless questions circled around in his head like dragons in the sky.

* * *

Marcus pushed open the creaky door to the Sleeping Giant Inn, and headed for Delphine's secret room. Camilla smiled at him when she saw him, opening her mouth to say something, but deciding against it as it looked like Marcus was in a hurry. Marcus simply smiled back, and kept moving. In the other corner of the room, Sven and Faendel both watched on, scowling at the interaction. Then they spoke in grumbling hushed tones to each other, and turned away. Marcus raised an eyebrow as he saw the actions unfold in the corner of his eye. It looks like the two men had been united in their mutual dislike of Camilla's affections toward him.

 _I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing,_ Marcus mused.

Marcus made his way down to Delphine's secret room, where he found both Blades ready and waiting. They looked up as he entered.

"About time, Marcus," Delphine said with a frown, "we've been waiting for a long time."

"I'm sorry about that," Marcus said somewhat sheepishly, "It's… been a rough week."

"Well," Esbern said rubbing his hands together, "we're here now, so let's begin."

He took out a book, and laid it open on the desk between them. On the first two pages, was a large map of Skyrim, with various labels on different locations. One label stood out from the others.

Delphine walked over, "Esbern, what is this?"

The old man tapped on the label that stood out from the others. Marcus had a look at it, it seemed to be in the Reach, a section of Skyrim Marcus had yet to explore.

"Right here," Esbern said in a somewhat excited manner, "Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the reach, during a conquest of Skyrim."

Delphine turned to Marcus and raised an eyebrow, "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Marcus went to respond with a 'don't have a clue' when Esbern hushed them both. "This is where they built Alduin's Wall, to set down all their accumulated Dragonlore in stone, rather literally."

Esbern stroked his chin thoughtfully, "You know, despite it's renowned status at the time, as one of the wonders of the ancient world, it's location was lost."

Delphine raised a hand and interrupted him, "What are you getting at, Esbern?"

He frowned, and stared at them both, "you mean to say you haven't heard of Alduin's Wall? Either of you?"

The old man received nothing but blank looks, so he sighed and continued, "Alduin's Wall was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. It was never lost, just… forgotten. I found it again. The Blades archives held so many secrets, yet I was only able to save scraps..."

The old man looked downcast suddenly, thinking of all the lost knowledge that must have perished in the great war. Marcus too was somewhat saddened at it. If more was spared, perhaps people would have been better prepared for the Dragon crisis.

Delphine asked, "So you think Alduin's Wall will tell us how to defeat Alduin, and stop him from raising more Dragons and apparently destroying the world?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, umm… it's highly likely, but there's no guarantee."

"Well," Marcus scratched his head, "if there's even a slight chance we'll get some answers, it's worth trying. All other avenues have yielded little for me, in terms of figuring out what's going on."

Delphine said, "Sky Haven Temple it is then, thank you Esbern. I knew you'd have something for us." She turned to face Marcus. "That area on the map, that Esbern's talking about, I know of it. It's in a place called Karthspire, west of Markarth along a river intersection."

Marcus nodded, "Ok, I'll meet you just outside it."

"You're not coming with us?"

Marcus shook his head, "No, there's one or two things I'd like to do beforehand. It won't take too long though, so you won't be waiting for me that long."

"Ok," Delphine smiled, "Stay safe. The area around Karthspire is infested with Forsworn, so be ready."

"You too." With those words, Marcus headed up to the inn once more. He figured he'd try and grab at least one of the words of power that Arngeir had told him of. While he didn't really anticipate too much resistance around what would be at this point an old, abandoned temple, the word's location wasn't too far from where Delphine had pointed out, so he might as well grab it.

Marcus pushed open the last door, and stepped out into the cold embrace to Skyrim. As he headed down the road, he took out his map and began planning the quickest route. The shout was east of Solitude a fair way, so he'd probably have to swing north of his final destination, before moving down south to reach it after learning the word. He breathed out a sigh, and readied himself for a long journey. He briefly considered grabbing Lydia for the journey, but decided against it. It wouldn't be fair to bring her along on a really long road trip, then have her help him and the Blades dig around in a dusty old temple.

It wasn't as if they'd be getting into any real fight, in an abandoned temple.

* * *

Marcus gazed down over the entrance to Sky Haven Temple, and the surrounding area, and almost kicked himself. He thought there wouldn't be any resistance, at all. He thought he was in for a brief bout of ruin-exploring. Instead, what lay in front of his eyes could be compared to a full-blown military encampment. Platforms had been raised in the shallower parts of the river, and they had been built into and alongside much of the already existing nordic structures. Marcus couldn't see anything Akaviri-like, but he did see a cave, which would probably contain it. He did remember how Esbern had said that the temple was 'lost', which would be hard to do if it was out in the open.

There was forsworn everywhere in the valley below. Some worked at a forge, some practiced archery out in the open, some walked into large tents made of grasses and hide, while many more simple walked around patrolling or talking to others. It did not look good.

Marcus wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he didn't bring Lydia along. It was a bad thing because it meant that he and the Blades had significantly less combat effectiveness than they would otherwise. It was good thing because it meant Lydia wouldn't have to get into such a dangerous situation. Regardless, thinking about it at this point wouldn't change anything, so Marcus moved away from his scouting location and headed back to where Delphine and Esbern were camped, a few hundred metres away. He'd met up with them after retrieving the word of power. It didn't take long, as the word was completely out in the open, so he could get it without needing to traverse a huge cairn. He wasn't able to use it as he hadn't absorbed a dragon soul recently, but he did know what it was. 'Su', which meant 'air'. As far as he could tell, it had something to do with weapons, but that was all he knew. Marcus' dovahzul wasn't the best, and he was mainly basing his interpretations off instinct.

"Well?" Delphine asked as he got close, "Has the situation changed at all, or is it the same as when I looked earlier?"

Marcus sighed, "I think on a scale of 1 to 10… we're pretty fucked."

Delphine groaned, "not what I wanted to hear."

"It'll be alright," Esbern said in a comforting tone, "we'll try and sneak in just after dawn, so the night patrols are all sleepy, and the day patrols haven't quite replaced them yet."

"Hmm..." Marcus was doubtful, "I don't know how well sneaking will work… there's an awful lot of tents and people between any approachable direction and the cave entrance. We'll probably need to fight sooner or later."

Delphine shrugged, "Let's get some rest, and sort it out at dawn."

Marcus nodded in agreement, and settled down in front of the campfire. Delphine took first watch, while Esbern read his Annuad for the umpteenth time, looking for any information he missed that might help them. Marcus just laid on his back, and gazed into the flames. The flickering light reflected his hazel iris'. He didn't know why, but he had a horrible premonition that tomorrow would end up being harder than they planned.

"So..." Delphine hummed, "What's the plan?"

Marcus turned to see, to his surprise, Delphine looking at him when she said that.

"Why are you looking at me?" Marcus asked defensively, "I'm not the ex-blades agent with decades worth of combat experience."

Delphine shrugged and said, "You've probably killed more things than me."

"And that gives me an endorsement to plan strategic attacks against an overwhelming number of crazed brigands?"

Esbern interrupted them, "We only need to get inside the temple, so we don't need to attack any of those people on the far side, near the forge." He pointed in the direction.

Marcus followed his finger, and looked at the forge. "They might decide to get involved anyway, as soon as they see us fighting."

Delphine made a thinking hum, and peered across the wooden platforms. "We only need to get into the Temple. I'd wager as soon as we're in there, there'll be a way to stop any Forsworn from following us."

Esbern stroked his chin, "Hmm… Maybe."

"Alright," Marcus rubbed his hands together to warm them up, "so we move as fast as we can, and only fight those in our way between here and the temple? Maybe sticking to the riverbed for as long as possible?"

The others nodded. Marcus scanned the area once more. They were at the opposite side of the valley to the cave entrance, and would probably have to end up approaching from the riverbed, onto the wooden platforms, then quickly make their way toward the cave, avoiding any unnecessary fighting, and just focusing on moving quickly. Hopefully once they were in the temple, they'd be able to stop the following Forsworn.

Then, just as the group was about to move, a roar echoed through the valley. Immediately, the hairs on the back of Marcus' neck stood up, and a single word raced through his mind.

"Dragon," he said.

"God damnit," Delphine swore, "that's the last thing we need right now."

Another roar sounded throughout the valley, and Marcus saw many Forsworn below look around in the sky with curious and worried body language. They seemed to know that it was a dragon too, which made sense. The return of the dragons had been common knowledge for about a month now, so there was no reason that bandits and Forsworn wouldn't know about it.

Another roar filled the air, closer this time. It was a very deep roar, and Marcus knew that whatever dragon was coming, was big. Bigger than any of the past ones he'd fought, that's for sure. Then again, he'd only fought about three.

"He sounds big," Esbern mused, "and angry."

"Someone probably stole his sweetroll" Marcus muttered to himself, drawing his weapons.

Then one last roar was heard, immensely loud this time, and the dragon flew out from behind one of the cliffs, and swept into the valley. He was very large. Nowhere near as big as Alduin, but certainly larger than any of the other dragons he'd seen. The scales were bright bronze, and in the early morning sunlight, they glowed a shining gold. If it wasn't for the fact that it was a vicious bringer of death, it'd be quite the majestic sight, sweeping through the air and dazzling everything around it with its golden splendor.

"By the divines," Esbern muttered, his eyes growing wide, "that's an Elder Dragon."

"A what?!" cried Delphine, "are you serious?"

"I take it an Elder Dragon isn't good." Marcus said.

Esbern rapidly shook his head, "No. They were among the upper ranking dragons in Alduin's army." The old man breathed out a tired sigh, looking at the dragon circling the valley with a worried expression. "That dragon poses easily as much of a threat as all the Forsworn below us. Probably more."

Marcus groaned, his premonition last night was accurate, it seemed. "I don't suppose we'll be able to simply wait for it to torch this place, and head into the temple afterward?"

Delphine shook her head, "there's no way of knowing if the dragon will still be around, or if it'll even leave. It'll probably snatch us up as we make a break for the cave entrance. It could easily collapse the entrance too."

Esbern muttered, "it might even be acting on Alduin's instructions, to do exactly that."

"We can't let that happen," Marcus said firmly, shaking his head, and looking at the dragon once more. "By Aetherius, watch it go..."

The three turned their heads back to the dragon, and watched it swoop down lower to the ground. The Forsworn were running about, firing spells and arrows at the beast, and trying to get into an organized fashion, but most of these missiles were missing the dragon as many of the Forsworn had only just woken up.

The Elder Dragon swooped down low, and opened its mouth. A huge gout of blazing flame erupted from the black maw, and scorched a huge section of the wooden platforms in a long line. The Forsworn caught in the fire were almost blasted to pieces, while the ones outside its radius were quickly surrounded by the flames and were burnt to death quickly. Many tried to jump over the side of the platforms into the water, but due to the intense heat of the dragon's fire, much of that water was evaporating. Even from their high position overlooking much of the valley, Marcus and the others could hear the bloodcurdling screams of the Forsworn. As much as they might have been savages and murderers, Marcus still didn't like to hear them screaming in such a horrific way.

The Dragon flew away, and circled back, ready to go for another strafe. Marcus quickly looked back at Delphine and Esbern.

"Ok, change of plans," he said rapidly, "stick to the river and head around the side up to the cave. Odds are, the Forsworn will hardly notice you. Once inside the cave, secure it and make sure nothing gets inside except me, when and if I eventually show up."

"What?!" Delphine cried, "What are you going to do?"

Marcus looked over at the Elder Dragon as it burnt even more Forsworn to ashes with another long line of blazing fire. "I'm going to deal with that Dragon."

"Are you insane?" said Delphine, grabbing him by the shoulder, "that thing is at least twice as powerful as the Dragon we came across at Kynesgrove!"

"All the more reason for me to stop it," Marcus replied evenly, "either you both get into that temple without me, or none of us are getting into it at all."

"Then let us help you, we don't need to get into the temple immediately!" Esbern looked like a worried grandfather.

Marcus glanced back down at Karthspire. It wasn't looking good at all. Much of the wooden platforms were burning, and about half of the Forsworn were dead. Very soon, the way up to the cave entrance would be blocked with fire and debris. The only part that wasn't really burning, was the stone section, on which the forge was placed.

"No," he said, "I have the beginnings of a plan, but it's only going to work for one person."

The expressions of the Blades were doubtful and angry.

He looked at them apologetically, "Look, it's not perfect, I know, but someone needs to distract that thing long enough for you two to get inside, and then someone needs to make sure it doesn't bring the temple down on our heads. I'm the best person to do both of those things, as much as I hate to say it."

Marcus stood up, and moved to the edge of the semi-slanted cliff they were scouting from, and readied both weapons in his hands.

 _If Lydia was here, she'd be in conniptions,_ He thought dimly.

Then he leapt off the rock and slid down the loose dirt on the side of the valley cliff, the metal armour on his back scraping against the mountainside. In front of him lay the entirety of Karthspire valley. He could see steam rising up everywhere from the dragon fire evaporating the river. Further down, he could see motionless, blackened bodies floating downstream. The dragon seemed to be taking its time, surgically removing little patches of Forsworn here and there, blasting them with measured amounts of fire.

The slope flattened slightly towards the bottom, giving him time to slow down. He leapt off a small ledge onto flatter ground, and checked his location. To his left was the raised stone platform that housed the forge on top of it, and in front of him as well as to his right was the remains of the wooden platforms. At least half of it was collapsed and burning, and the other half was burning, and in the process of collapsing. Behind all this, on the other side of the valley, was the entrance to the cave.

Marcus craned his head to the sky to see the dragon, and saw it lazily circling above. He needed to get its attention, as the whole 'distraction' thing wouldn't work if it wasn't actually focusing on him. Marcus took a quick deep breath, and sprinted up to the left, running up the stone stairs to the forge. Once he reached the top, he spotted a hagraven crawling along the ground, nursing several large burns and with a splinter the size of its arm buried in its stomach.

 _Time to get that Dragon's attention,_ Marcus thought to himself, sheathing his weapons. He walked over to where the hagraven was lying down, and dragged its almost dead corpse to the edge of the raised stone platform. He might as well get two birds with one stone, and kill the hagraven while attracting the Dragon's attention.

He left the hagraven at the edge, and took a few steps back, then took a deep breath.

"Fus… Ro Dah!"

The circle of blue energy slammed into the hagraven and hurled it off the edge, onto the burning wooden walkways below. Instantly, upon hearing the Thu'um, the Dragon circling above snapped its head over to Marcus location, and emitted a loud growl that resonated throughout the valley. It dropped in altitude, and slowly flew over to where Marcus stood.

It stopped above the platforms, hovering while staring at Marcus who still stood on the raised stone area. The two figures stared at each other, fire filling the air with the sound of crackling wood. Then the voice of the Dragon spoke above it all.

"Dovahkiin… Alduin prodah hin qalos..."

Marcus didn't give the dragon an answer. He stared at it for a few seconds, then just slowly drew his sword, in full view of it. The Dragon seemed to grin at the unspoken challenge. Then it took a deep breath, and arched its neck.

Delphine and Esbern crouched down and moved quickly across the shallow parts of the river. There was a lot of Forsworn bodies floating about, but none of them were animate enough to stop the pair. They made it halfway across, when they heard a loud growl that shook them to their bones. It was from the Dragon, indisputably. They looked up, and saw it swoop overhead and hover above the nordic stone area they'd seen from above.

They kept moving, quicker, until they reached the shore. After moving up a few metres, they heard the dragon say something. It was in Dovahzul, so neither of them could understand it, even Esbern who knew a little of the language. It contained 'Dovahkiin' though, they knew that much. They turned back, and could see from a side-on view both Marcus and the Elder Dragon. The Dragon was hovering in place, beating its wings and throwing gusts of wind everywhere. Marcus was just… standing there, not moving.

"What in Oblivion is he doing?" whispered Delphine furiously, "he's just standing there, waiting to be incinerated!"

Then Marcus slowly reached down, and drew his sword with an exaggerated motion, drawing it well out and bringing it over his body, to his side.

"Is he…?" both Blades said at the same time, their mouths hanging open, and their eyes wide, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Was Marcus actually taunting the Dragon to get its undivided attention?

The answer was yes, that's what Marcus was doing, ignorant of the fact that the giant Dragon in front of him could immolate him in a single moment. The beast arched its neck, and prepared to lay waste to the entire upper section of the stone platform, which would end Marcus' life in a heartbeat. Both Blades had their hearts in their mouths, wondering what the hell the Dragonborn had planned.

* * *

Marcus looked up at the bronze dragon, analyzing its every muscle movement, biding his time. He didn't want to move too quickly, or early. As it arched its neck, and a familiar red glow began to build up in the back of his throat, Marcus acted.

Moving with the fluidity of someone who'd seemingly practiced the movements their entire life, Marcus sprinted forward and ran up one of the collapsed stone watchtower things that that stuck out of the stone platform. He reached the top just as the fire began blasting out of the Dragon's maw. He was probably directly level with the dragon's face at this point, due to the fact that the beast had lowered its head to breathe the fire. Even from this distance, he could feel the intense heat. While he had gained a few metres height at the top of the stone rubble, he couldn't escape the intensity and heat of the fire. A single breath from that Dragon could burn a whole house down. The only safe place in the entire area within 10 metres was directly on top, or directly underneath the Dragon's head.

Which is precisely where Marcus intended on going.

Opening his mouth, Marcus shouted Whirlwind Sprint, and flew across the gab between the edge of the stone platform, and the Elder Dragon just as the entire area behind him was bathed in fire that burned the stone black. The beast's eyes widened as Marcus flew through the air toward it. He crashed into the side of its head, and scrabbled for grip. He ended up latching his left hand around one of the large barbs/horns on its neck behind its head, and held on firmly. The Dragon roared in annoyance, and flew off, carrying Marcus with it.

With his sword still in his right hand, Marcus tried desperately to not let his grip on the Dragon's neck falter. He was in the right spot so that it couldn't hit him with its wings or mouth, but it was not easy to hang onto. The Dragon was also shaking its neck side to side in attempts to dislodge the persistent mortal. Marcus knew he couldn't hold on forever.

"Time to get you on the ground," Marcus muttered, bringing his sword around and readying himself. With each loud beat of the Dragon's wings, it's whole body shifted. This made it incredibly difficult to hang onto, but it also rhythmically exposed sections of the Dragon's neck, as the interlinked scales separated momentarily with each repeated movement.

Marcus gritted his teeth, and with a grunt he raised his sword up, and buried the blade into one of the gaps in the Elder Dragon's armour-like scales as far as he could push it. The Dragon roared in pain, and faltered mid-air, but didn't get any closer to the ground. Clearly, one stab wasn't enough to bring it down, so Marcus ripped his sword out, chose another spot on the Dragon's neck, and buried it there. The Dragon roared in pain again, and seemed to 'stagger' midair. Marcus pulled out his sword once more, and buried it into the neck of the Dragon one last time.

The beast groaned gutturally, and found that it couldn't keep itself in the air in such a pained, mutilated state. It seemed Akatosh had never decided to give Dragons the ability or concentration to fly while holes were being stabbed into its neck. It lost altitude rapidly, turning around and approaching the remains of Karthspire from the same direction as the oncoming water. It spread its wings out to slow it down, reducing its descent into a semi-controlled glide. Marcus, still holding onto the Dragon's neck, quickly decided to sheathe his sword and hold onto the Dragon with both hands. It was hard though, because all of the black blood pouring out of the wounds he'd created made his handholds on the neck rather slippery.

With a pained roar, the Elder Dragon crashed into the remains of the burning wooden platforms and burrowed through them. Bits of burning wood flew into the air, along with whatever water remained underneath them, and plenty of mud. Somewhere amongst the carnage of splintering wood and churned earth, Marcus lost his grip and went spinning away amongst the hurricane of wreckage that the Dragon was throwing everywhere.

After another second, the Dragon came to a stop, almost in the middle of the wooden platforms. It groaned loudly, and tried to stand up. Large splinters of burning wood had embedded themselves into it, piercing the exposed spots on its wings and underbelly, but it was still able to fight. It stretched out its wings and cleared a space among the wreckage.

It had created in its descent and subsequent crash a sort of clearing on the riverbed, surrounded by burning wooden wreckage. The Elder Dragon looked around for the human that had caused it so much pain and damage. It knew it wasn't on its neck anymore, but knew that when it had fallen off, it couldn't have gone far.

Marcus groaned in pain, and lifted a large burning wooden beam off him, ignoring the burns his hands got when he touched it. He staggered to his knees, and became aware of a burning hot sensation in his chest. So he looked down, and nearly passed out. A large wooden splinter the length of a shortsword blade and as wide as a fist was stuck in his stomach. It had nearly gone all the way through. It felt… odd, to have something that size unnaturally stuck in his insides, not to mention incredibly painful.

However, Marcus had been extremely lucky, in a sense. The piece of wooden buried in him had been on fire up until about 5 seconds ago, so it was burning hot. This did more damage to the flesh, but also managed to cauterize the wound directly around where it was lodged. As such, apart from the fact he had a huge splinter in his stomach, Marcus wouldn't be actually bleeding out or anything, as long as he didn't remove the splinter, and basic movements didn't cause his insides to flop out. So, while he'd need serious medical attention within the hour, he wouldn't need it within the next 5 minutes. This meant he could still fight.

All this information ran through Marcus' head as he stared at the mess that was his lower torso. He groaned, and slowly stood up, and looked around. Pain raked through his entire body, but he deliberately focused on other sensations, like the heat on his skin, or the roaring hot air going through his hair, to block it all out. He was at the edge of the clearing that the Dragon had created, with large amounts of wreckage on all sides. The large beast turned its head and saw him behind it, so it slowly turned its whole body to face him.

Marcus limped forward a few steps, breathing hard. He concentrated, and summoned a little restoration magic to help him with the pain. The Dragon was now facing him in full, its large eyes staring at him with hatred and anger. Marcus stared back, the two sets of eye colours nearly matching. Marcus slowly drew his sword again, and pulled out his dagger as well, holding them in both hands. He needed to end this quickly, because he physically would not be able to stand for much longer.

The Dragon opened its mouth and lunged forward, intent on biting the offending human in half. Marcus half-rolled, half-collapsed sideways, and got back onto his feet as quickly as he could. He lunged forward and thrusted at the side of the Dragon's head with his sword, catching it just below the eye, and giving it a substantial cut.

The Dragon roared, a bit more tiredly this time, and turned its head sideways to bite at him again. Marcus fell to the ground, on his hands and knees, and the bite went overhead. He quickly reached up with his left hand and stabbed his dagger into the soft scales underneath the Dragon's head, eliciting another roar. More hot black blood sprayed onto Marcus, from above this time, speckling his hair with the liquid. The Dragon flicked its head diagonally, and knocked Marcus away from underneath it. He hit the ground with a groan, lucky to have landed on his back, and not on his front as the splinter would've been pushed inside him more. That being said, the knock had probably bruised a rib or two.

Marcus ignored the messages his body was screaming at him, and stood up once more, feeling rather shaky on his feet. The edges of his vision were a blurry red. The Dragon shifted once more to face him. The multiple wounds seemed to fatigue it too, and it moved somewhat sluggishly. Marcus used the brief break to channel more restoration magic, and healed some of the internal damage he'd sustained, to get him into a better fighting state.

He limped forward once more, focusing hard on the movements and coiling of the muscles in the Dragon's neck, which indicated when it would strike. The Dragon seemed to take several deep breaths, filling its lung with air. Marcus knew what it was about to do, so he did the same, and took a deep breath. With a loud roar, the Dragon opened its mouth and blasted fire at Marcus once more.

"Feim!"

The shout turned Marcus ethereal, and the flames passed through him easily. If he hadn't used the shout, the intense heat would've probably burnt his skin even if he hadn't been directly hit. Marcus ran forward, as fast as his body allowed him to, and stopped when he was right beside the Dragon's head. He gripped his dagger with white knuckles, before reaching forward and sticking his left arm inside the Dragon's open mouth as far as he could. It mustn't have been able to see him in his ethereal state while breathing fire, because it didn't react. Marcus silently prayed that his faded form would last longer than the fire breath.

With a ragged cough from the Dragon, the fire stopped coming out, and Marcus acted quickly. Just as his shout wore off, and his arm still inside the mouth of the Dragon, he plunged his dagger through the roof of the its mouth. It emerged on the outside, just in front of the beast's eyes. It roared in pain, lifting its head off the ground, along with Marcus, and biting down on the offending arm. However, thanks to the brilliant work Eorland had done on Marcus armour, utilizing the Skyforge's new metal, the thick steel covering Marcus' upper arm held against the shorter front teeth of the beast. It wouldn't hold forever, as he could still feel the sheer strength of the Dragon's jaw crushing his arm, but Marcus didn't need it to.

Using his embedded dagger inside its mouth as a sort of leverage handle, he reached around with his right arm, and plunged his sword into the soft flesh right behind the Dragon's cheekbone, except he angled the blade so it was facing back toward him. The tip of Marcus' glass sword pierced through most of the Dragon's skull and met its smaller twin inside the back of the Dragon's mouth, and the beast let loose a huge, guttural moan. It raised its head up higher, lifting Marcus with it, before going entirely limp and crashing to the ground. Marcus' arm was ripped out of the mouth, the front teeth causing many scrapes along the less adequately protected forearm, and he tumbled backwards.

Then the Dragon slowly began to glow and burn…

* * *

Esbern and Delphine paced nervously inside the cave entrance. The Forsworn had turned the area into a sort of infirmary, with beds and herbal mixtures. These mixtures might as well have been closer to poisons, but there was a few basic healing potions around, and a few more advanced ones. After watching Marcus' suicidal stunt, they tore their eyes from the spectacle and made their way inside the cave. The two Blades hadn't found anyone else in there when they arrived, so it was safe to assume all the Forsworn were either dead or had run away. None of the ones that were hurt by the dragon were in any condition to enter the infirmary, it seemed.

Then they heard a slight scraping sound, and the shuffling of feet. Their eyes snapped towards the entrance to the cave, where they say Marcus slowly emerge from around the corner.

He was a complete mess. A large lump of wood sticking out of his belly, and his left arm hung bleeding and limp by his side. A cut on the side of his head dripped blood down the right side of his face, plus most of his exposed skin on his face, neck, arms, and legs were covered in burns and other marks. He was covered in black and red blood. Black being from the Dragon, and the red being his own. The scraping noise came from his glass sword, which he was dragging tiredly along the ground by the handle, the tip clanging against small rocks.

"Guess who just killed an Elder Dragon…?" Marcus said sluggishly, with a weary smile.

Then he crumpled to the floor unceremoniously, as the two figures ran towards him.

* * *

Delphine and Esbern lit the various torches in the room, illuminating the inside of Sky Haven Temple. Marcus slowly walked up the stairs into the room, using the walls for support. It had taken every single healing potion in the Forsworn infirmary to even stabilize his condition, and then they had to rely on Esbern's less than practiced restoration magic to rouse him before the young man slipped into a coma. He had thick bandages wrapped around his chest, and most of his left arm. They'd tried to keep him in the Forsworn infirmary beds for a little longer, but he waved off their concern almost instantly after waking up.

"I'm fine," Marcus had said, trying to stand up before immediately being overwhelmed by a wave of nausea and throwing up. In the end, they'd settled for simply keeping him in the bed for a few hours, using his healing magic and Esbern's to boost his system when they could. Even after they'd managed to get him on his feet, he was still rather weak.

In the centre of the room, in front of them all was a magnificent carving on a large wall. Alduin's Wall, no doubt. Delphine watched as Marcus slowly made his way up to them, using his sword as a makeshift walking stick, and shook her head.

"He's insane," she muttered to Esbern nearby, loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough for Marcus to not. "He's walking about after taking injuries that would keep most people bedridden for a week at least."

Esbern chuckled, "He's the saviour of the world, Delphine, I'm not surprised."

She frowned at the old man, "we don't know that for sure, Esbern."

The old man shrugged, "We will soon." Then he gestured at the large wall.

Marcus limped up behind them, breathing heavily. "This is it, isn't it?"

"Yes." Esbern nodded with certainity.  
"Wow," Marcus breathed, looking at the large carved spectacle in front of him.

"Indeed," Esbern agreed, "I've never seen a better example of early era Akaviri sculptural relief..."

"Esbern," Delphine warned, "we're here for information, not a history lesson."

"Yes… yes." The old man was clearly distracted. He walked up to the far left hand side of the wall, and lit a strange bowl to illuminate that side of the wall. He then began describing each section of the wall, from the Dragon War to Alduin's downfall.

"Here," Esbern said, tapping underneath the depiction of Alduin fall from power, "this is the akaviri symbol for shout, used against Alduin."

Delphine frowned, "So they used a shout to defeat Alduin?"

"Hmm…? Oh yes, probably something specifically related to dragons, or Alduin specifically."

Delphine turned to Marcus, "have you ever heard of such a thing? A shout that knocks dragons out of the sky?"

He shook his head, "No, but the greybeards might know."

Delphine's face turned bitter, "I had hoped to avoid involving them, but it seems we have no choice."

Marcus frowned, "what have you got against them?"

Delphine scowled at the thought, "if they had their way, you'd do nothing but sit up on that mountain and talk to the sky. They're so afraid of power, of your power, they don't want to see it used."

Marcus shrugged, then grimaced at the pain of doing so, "well, power causes problems. They might not be afraid, as much as wary."

"Would Tiber Spetim have founded the empire if he listened to the Greybeards?" Delphine said indignantly.

"No," Marcus admitted, "but then he also wouldn't have laid waste to the elven homeland with a mountain-sized golem and added to the deep-seated hatred of mankind that caused the great war, and thus caused this civil war."

Delphine went to say something, but stopped abruptly, caught aback by Marcus' words.

He said, "Don't worry, I'm not afraid of my power, but that doesn't mean it should be wielded without consideration."

"All the great heroes have learned to use their power," Delphine responded, "you never hear of those who shrank from their destiny. Then there's the villains who misused their power. There's always a choice, and always a risk. But never live in fear of what might go wrong, and be encumbered with inaction."

"Hmm… I'll go and talk to Arngier, then," Marcus said in agreement. He thought for a second, biting his lip and looking at the ground, then looked Delphine in the eyes. "But what makes you think I'm one of the heroes?"

When Delphine didn't have a response, Marcus turned and walked over to Esbern, who was reading the last panels.  
"Here are the Akaviri, see how they kneel, their ancient mission fulfilled, as the last Dragonborn contends with Alduin, at the end of time."

Marcus stared at his depiction, as Delphine mumbled something about searching the place for ancient blade equipment. The picture of Marcus didn't look like him. He was a towering figure, with warriors behind him praising his presence. The depiction had one arm in front of him, warding off a blast of dragon fire, with the other arm holding a sword.

Esbern read off a long of symbols near the depiction, "When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls. When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding. The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn." Esbern turned and looked at Marcus as he said the final words.

Marcus simply stared blankly at the wall, Esbern's last words circling in his mind. His heartbeat quickened rapidly, and it felt like the world was crashing down around him. It was true. What Esbern had said was true. The wall had confirmed it. Marcus was the one… the only one… to save the world from Alduin. There was no other Dragonborn, and no other way for it to go. Marcus had to fight Alduin, in order to stop the world from ending.

It was entirely up to him, to Marcus, to save the world from ending.

Blood roared in Marcus' ears, and he felt like fainting. It seemed like his shoulders had just gotten a thousand times heavier.

"Well," Esbern said, his voice a hundred leagues away. "I was correct. The last of the Dragonblood had arisen to stand against the World-Eater, on his fateful return."

 _It can't be true,_ Marcus thought, his eyes growing in shock and fear, _but it is… it really is._

Marcus wanted to pass out. He wanted to collapse and melt into a little puddle of goo so that no-one and nothing would ever bother him again. He wanted to escape from Skyrim, to escape from Nirn. He wanted to run so far away that fate couldn't catch him. But if he did this, it would end everything. The burden was already placed.

He thought back to every single time a weapon had nearly hit him fatally, every time he nearly died. All those that were trying to kill him were actually holding a blade to the throat of the entire world. If he had let his guard down, and died, the world would end.

Every single person Marcus had ever met. Lydia, Idgrod, Amren, Danica, Balgruuf, Carlotta, her daughter, the downtrodden beggars he had seen in the streets of larger cities. They all directly depended on Marcus to survive.

Every. Single. One.

Marcus reeled backwards, his breathing sharp and rapid. His eyes were wide and panicked. A ice-cold hand seemed to be closing in around his chest. His lungs couldn't seem to get any oxygen.

"Are you ok Marcus?" Esbern said, concerned at the young man's sudden panic and hyperventilation.

"I… I…" Marcus clutched his head with one hand, the other flailing about trying to balance himself, "I need some air… now."

And with those words Marcus half ran, half stumbled up the stairs to the top of Sky Haven Temple, desperate to simply escape the walls that seemed to be closing in on him.

* * *

Esbern and Delphine found Marcus sitting on the ground outside the temple an hour later, looking out over the reach and beyond. He seemed calmer to when they'd seen him last.

"You feeling better?" Delphine asked.

"Yeah," Marcus mumbled quietly, "it's… it's just so hard to wrap my head around."

Esbern walked up beside him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I know, it… it must be very difficult to know the whole world depends on you."

"I don't why it'd be me though," Marcus said quietly, his voice full of confusion, "I'm… I'm just me… what makes that worthy of saving the world?"

"I don't know," Esbern shrugged, "but the Gods seem to think you're enough, so that should count for something, right?"

Marcus sighed, "that's what Arngeir said."

"Well, have a little faith, then."

Marcus sighed. He stared out over the horizon, as the sun began to set. Tomorrow, when that sun rose above the land, Marcus knew that he was responsible for everything that its light touched. Every person, crying baby, every animal and insect. Without Marcus, it'd come to an end.

He breathed out deeply, trying to stop himself from freaking out again. If the Gods believed he could do this, then he could. He'd just have to try harder. He'd have to learn quicker. Close calls, like what he had today with the Elder Dragon, couldn't afford to happen again.

Marcus slowly began to realize that it wouldn't matter too much what he thought of this destiny that had been heaped onto him, as he couldn't do anything to change it. It was there, and he had to shoulder it. The alternative wasn't something he could let happen. It wasn't as if he had to fight Alduin tomorrow, so he didn't need to worry about it just yet.

He'll need to speak to Arngeir when he could, and sort out other problems later. These thoughts calmed Marcus as he sat there, watching the sunset.

 _Take one thing at a time,_ he told himself, nodding in affirmation.

Then he stood up, ready to face the world. Or save it, rather.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Poor, poor Marcus. So much pressure... Maybe I should just kill him off and spare Alduin the trouble…**

 **A lot of (attempted?) character development this chapter, plus a nice Dragon fight. I always love writing those. Let me know how it seemed, as I'm never sure if I'm describing the scene or surrounding area well enough. I'd recommend going onto google images or whatever equivlanet you have and looking up some pictures of Karthspire if you're having trouble envisioning what the place looks like. Just keep in mind that in this version, in my story, it's a lot, lot bigger. Gotta add that drama, am I right? Next chapter I'll probably do some follower-related things.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes: It's been a bit of a while since you all last saw Marcus. I've jumped forward about 3 weeks, just to better accommodate a leap in skills/experience and knowledge. No major story of guild quests have been done however, it'll all just be random words of power, and bounties. You know, the stuff you do when you need to get up a few levels.**

 **Also, just in case you need some visual assistance to picture how Illia looks in this story, use the short haired version from the 'Chao's Improved Illia' mod. I'm not sure how old Illia is in the game, but I've made her fairly young here.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 14 – 2+ Followers

"I'm just saying, there's no real reason to go in there," Marcurio emphasized his point with an open palmed shrugging gesture.

"Yeah, there's no reason not to go in there either," Marcus replied, scanning the tower with a curious eye.

"Are you kidding?" the mage replied, "there's loads of reasons. What about the fact that it'll be cold and dark and probably full of stuff that wants to kill you?"

"You don't know that for sure..." Marcus said defensively.

"From what I've heard, and what you've told me, it seems everything in your life wants to kill you."

"Yeah, well..." Marcus trailed off into a series of grumbles and murmured contradictions not good enough to voice properly.

"We've already sorted out the business with the Dragon," Marcurio said, "so why not just head back to Riften, and we call it quits?"

Marcus frowned, "But we're already here, and knowing my luck, I'll probably have to end up needing to search this ruin for a word of power or some artifact sooner or later. Why not do it now?"

"Because I don't want to..." Marcurio said weakly, "you'd think after fighting a Dragon, you'd be a bit tired."

"That was yesterday, though. Besides, you're still under contract for another day or so, so technically you have to do what I say."

Marcurio groaned, "Normally it's just 'escort me from point A to B' or something menial. I think I've earned a bit of rest after helping you kill a Dragon..."

"Fine," Marcus sighed, "you can stay here and wait for me to come back out."

"What, and have you potentially die in my watch? Do you know what that would do for my reputation?" Marcurio frowned, "forget it, if you're so insistent of searching the bloody place, I'll come with you."

"Hah!" Marcus grinned at his victory, before walking off in the direction of the tower. Marcurio sighed, and followed. When he caught up with Marcus, he glanced up at the tower.

He said, "What do you normally find in places like this?"

Marcus looked at the scope of the place, and chewed his lip. "Normally either bandits or rogue mages. Sometimes I get lucky and it's abandoned."

Marcurio muttered sarcastically, "Great. Just what I wanted out of my day."

Marcus put his hands on his hips with an exaggerated exhaustion, and looked back at the grumbling mercenary, "Do you always complain this much on your jobs? How do you stay in business?"

"Most of my clients are fat guys with too much paranoia and money, not Dragonborn heroes with little to no self-preservation."

"Hmph," Marcus huffed to himself, and walked through the gateway of the wall surrounding the tower. It all looked very abandoned, but then again, most of these places did.

"Heads up," Marcurio said, grabbing Marcus by the shoulder and pointing to the pathway leading up the door of the tower. The pathway had several spikes lined alongside it, with the heads of various animals stuck on top.

Marcus looked at the display, then back at Marcurio. "Really? 'Heads up'? Was that your attempt at a pun?"

"What?" Marcurio looked at Marcus with a frown of confusion, then annoyed understanding, "No, that's not what I – listen, this place is clearly occupied by hostile people."

"All the more reason to clear it out," Marcus said with a shrug, "I've never met anyone that puts heads on sticks, and isn't malicious."

"Oh my god… I've already fulfilled my 'doing shit' quota for the week." Marcurio groaned, drawing his mace and following behind Marcus.

"You know what they say, no rest for the wicked."

"Yeah," the mage grumbled, "I'm not wicked."

"I wasn't talking about you."

Marcurio raised an eyebrow at that statement, but kept quiet, following behind the Dragonborn.

The pair walked through the front door, and slowly made their way inside. They made their way down a short halfway, into the open room at the base of the tower. There were stairs snaking upwards to the left. In the centre of the room, were two women in robes, one blue and one black, facing off against each other. Just as Marcus and Marcurio entered through the doorway, and were about to say something, the blue-robed women kicked the other one back, and launched an ice spike into her chest. The second robed woman fell down, dead.

"Woah..." Marcurio said slowly, his left hand curling with shock magic.

Marcus drew both his weapons, and slowly moved into the room. The robed woman turned to see the two men, and frantically held up her hands to stop them.

"By the Gods… I know this looks bad! Let me explain."

The voice belonged to a girl. She was young. Younger than Marcus, for sure. Marcus stopped walking forward, Marcurio right behind him. Neither sheathed their weapons.

Marcus frowned, and said, "You just killed that woman… why?"

The girl took a step back defensively, "I… I didn't want to! She attacked and tried to keep my from leaving. I can't be a part of this place anymore! The things we do here… evil things… no more!"

"Why did she attack you?" Marcus' voice was laced with suspicion.

"We…" The girl breathed out a sigh, "we were supposed to find a sacrifice… a human sacrifice. I told her I couldn't do it, and she attacked."

The two men looked at each other, wondering whether or not to believe the girl.

"Look," she said desperately, "I've done horrible things here, but I've never taken an innocent life. I couldn't just go and find some person for them to kill!"

Marcus glanced sideways at the ground, thinking. Marcurio stood beside him, waiting for orders.

Marcus looked up, "Why did you – they, need a sacrifice?"

The girl glanced around worriedly, "the initiation. My own mother is going to become one of those… things. I can't be a part of that."

"What thing is she going to become a part of?"

Illia didn't answer at first, she just kept looking at the floor and shaking her head, muttering to herself. "Gods..." she breathed, "it won't end… she'll just end up taking more innocent lives. I can't run away from this. I need to stop her."

"What thing is your mother going to become?" Marcus asked again, louder this time.

The young girl was snapped out of her worried trance and looked up, fear etched into her face. "A Hagraven. Mother is going to become a Hagraven."

"What the hell…?" Marcurio looked over at Marcus with confusion on his face. "Is that even possible?"

"I have no idea..." said Marcus, taken aback by the idea. "I thought Hagravens were basically just fucked up versions of humans, and reproduced like other animals."

Marcurio thought for a moment, "Well, I've never seen a male Hagraven, so what the girl's saying does make some sense."

"Listen," the girl took a step forward and had a pleading look in her eyes. "I can't let this cycle continue. I'm going up to stop this. I don't know what brought either of you here, but I really could use your help, if you are willing."

Marcurio and Marcus exchanged a glance, reading the looks in each other's eyes. They each determined whether they could trust the young girl, whether her story added up. Then they both nodded once and looked back at the girl.

Marcus said, "we'll help you."

"Hopefully you don't stab us in the back," Marcurio added cheerfully.

"Oh..." the girl looked surprised, as if she hadn't actually expected them to agree. "Um… thank you, I won't betray you or let you down."

"We'd greatly appreciate it if you didn't," Marcus said with a smile.

The girl shook her head to clear it, and moved forward. "Oh… I'm Illia, by the way."

"I'm Marcus," he said, "and the annoying one is Marcurio."

"Hey" Marcurio frowned, "you think **I'm** the annoying one?"

Marcus walked over to the stairs and called over his shoulder, "He also forgets the fact that I'm his employer."

Then Marcus began walking up the stairs, not waiting for the other two to follow him. Illia looked over at Marcurio, and they began walking after him at the same time.

"Uhh… What's with him?" Illia asked hesitantly to Marcurio, nodding up the stairs to where Marcus had walked.

Marcurio sighed, "I'm a mercenary, he's my 'client'. He's also a huge pain in the ass."

Illia frowned, "How come he lets you say such negative things about him?"

The mage shrugged, "Meh, Marcus seems pretty casual about it. It's more banter than anything else. He has more than enough on his plate to deal with than worrying about cheek from a mercenary."

"I see..." Illia said slowly. She didn't.

The two mages caught up to Marcus. He was in the process of killing off a few skeevers and small frostbite spiders. With the added help from the mages, Illia using ice spikes and Marcurio using lightning bolts, everything was killed in seconds.

"Just how many people or creatures might we be encountering?" Marcus asked, rubbing his wrist where a skeever had nipped him.

Illia said, "There's a lot of witches, and a hagraven."

"Right," Marcus nodded to Marcurio, "take point, use ward spells."

"Won't you say please first?" Marcurio said slyly.

"Ugh… Please Marcurio." Marcus followed it up with a quiet murmur, "cheeky bastard."

Marcurio walked in front, the soft white glow of a ward spell in his hand. Marcus went behind him, and ushered for Illia to stand behind them both.

"I can handle myself," she said, "no need to babysit me."

Marcus said, "I don't doubt that, but I should still probably go first. Use those spells of yours and try not to hit me."

"Um… I won't."

Marcus grinned, "Don't worry about Marcurio though, he's expendable."

"Keep this up and you'll be hurting my feelings, Marcus." Marcurio said from up front, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Illia looked at the two men. They seemed to insult each other at every available opportunity, yet neither of them seemed to care about it. She would admit she had little experience with modern socializing, given her extremely detached lifestyle, but she still visited towns once or twice a year, and read books, and had never seen this sort of interaction.

"Oh," Illia remembered something, "there's a troll in one of these rooms. We've been taming it."

"A troll?" Marcus frowned, "what colour?"

"Black."

"Oh, good." Marcus nodded in understanding. The group moved up further, and walked through an open door. Inside was a large chamber, with a raised section to the left, and a door to the right. Inside was one witch, off to the right near the other door.

Thanks to the creaky door that the small group entered through, stealth was off the table.

The witch turned and snarled when she saw the group.

"Come to betray us, Illia?" she growled, drawing a dagger and summoning fire into her hand.

"I've come to do the right thing," Illia replied shakily, trying to stand up taller and straighter.

"Hah!" the witch sneered, "then you'll die in vain..."

She raised splayed her hand open at Illia, but Marcurio stepped in the way and cast a ward spell. The fireball hit the circle of blue light and exploded harmlessly. An instant later, a small green blur flew across the gap between the mages, and the witch staggered back. A small green dagger had buried itself into her stomach. It wasn't a fatal blow, but still caused the witch to almost fall backwards in shock. Illia followed up with an ice spike to the chest, and the witch went down.

"Man," Marcus breathed, walking over and pulling his dagger out of the witch's chest and sheathing it. "I'm getting somewhat good at throwing this thing."

"Meh," Marcurio shrugged, "I'd say it's about 50/50."

Marcus was about to retort at him, when a loud growl was heard, coming from somewhere up the stairs. All three figures turned and looked. Lumbering across a stone walkway on the second level of the room was a large troll, with black fur. Marcus and Marcurio instantly switched to fire spells, and began casting it at the beast. The fire hit it in the chest, and it growled in pain, before leaping off from the second level, not bothering with the stairs anymore, and landing on Marcurio. Illia tried to fire her ice spikes at the beast, but they did very little against the monster.

The troll roared, raising its hands above its head in a taunting show of anger. It was about to stomp on Marcurio's unprotected face, and thus turn it into mush, when Marcus shouted 'unrelenting force' at it, the Thu'um resonating throughout the room.

"Fus Ro Dah!"

The circle of blue energy hit the troll and launched it across the room before it had the chance to stamp on Marcurio's face. The troll collided with the stone wall, and fell to the ground. Marcurio staggered to his feet, winded from being pushed to the ground by a heavy troll. Marcus ran forward, sheathing both his weapons and held out both hands in front of him. A second later, twin gouts of flame shot out of his palms and blasted into the troll. The beast faltered slightly, unable to withstand the sheer quantity of fire. A few second later, it fell down, dead.

Marcus instantly extinguished the flames in his hands, and staggered backward, clutching his head.

"Are you both all right?" Illia asked worriedly, running forward. She didn't want them to die helping her, as the whole reason she was doing this was to stop people dying.

"Yeah," Marcus said, shaking his head. He pulled a blue potion out of a pouch on his belt, and drank it down. "Just a magicka drain headache."

Marcurio picked up his mace, and rubbed his shoulder where the troll had pinned him down. "Yeah, I'm fine too, not the first time I've been pinned down by something big, hairy and unfriendly..."

Marcus tossed aside the empty potion and raised an eyebrow. He took a breath and opened his mouth to inquire further, but stopped before any sound came out, and closed his mouth.

 _I don't actually want to know…_ he thought to himself.

"What on Earth was that magic you used?" Illia asked, looking at Marcus, "the type that launched the troll away?"

"Uh..." he scratched the back of his head, "I don't suppose you've heard of what a Dragonborn is?"

Illia replied with a shake of her head. Marcus ended up just sighing, and gesturing to Marcurio.

"Marcurio, tell her while I search the upstairs section for anything useful. I'm not really the best person to describe myself."

"How much creative license do I get when describing your story?" Marcurio asked him with a thoughtful grin.

Marcus shot him a look, and moved up the stairs. Marcurio sighed, and turned to the confused girl.

Illia said, "I've never seen that type of magic before… he said three words and the troll got hurtled across the room..."

Marcurio smiled at her, "that's Marcus' trademark ability. It's called the Thu'um. It basically uses the language of Dragons to channel some kind of energy, or something. It uses no magicka, and is extremely powerful."

"How do you learn it?"

Marcurio laughed, "that's the first thing I asked him when he showed me. The sad thing is, unless you're willing to spend decades meditating and studying to be able to use a single word, you can't learn it."

Illia frowned, and looked up at Marcus, before turning back. "Marcus doesn't look that old though… how did he learn?"

"Well, for some reason, the lucky bastard was selected by Akatosh, and given the soul of a dragon, which means that using it is second nature to him."

"Wow..." Illia breathed, turning and looking at Marcus as he rooted through a chest on the upper section of the room. He didn't look like the sort of person that possessed the soul of a dragon. He wasn't taller than average, nor did he look like a dragon. He had a relatively average face, and wasn't built very muscular or anything. Illia tilted her head, and frowned. Still, he had a certain… stature that commanded presence, and power.

10 seconds later, Marcus walked down the stairs and nodded to the two of them. "Nothing up there but a few soul gems and a new magicka potion." He glanced over at Marcurio, "have you filled her in?"

"Yeah, I basically told her you're half lizard."

"Ugh… Good enough."

"Well… Uh..." Illia coughed nervously, "let's keep moving."

The group headed further through the tower. Illia kept glancing over at Marcus, looking him up and down with a curious and strange look. Marcus pretended not to notice. They went up another set of stairs, and heard voices at the top. Marcurio got down into a crouch, and craned his head around the side of the curved wall to get a better look. He gestured with his hand, holding up to fingers. Marcus nodded in understanding. Two witches, and a hagraven.

He gestured for Illia to move up to Marcurio. The girl nodded, and slowly crept up. Staying in the shadows, the two mages charged up their respective spells, and fired at the two witches in black robes at the top of the tower's stairs.

Marcurio's charged chain lightning spell struck both witches, making them stagger backwards, Marcus threw a firebolt at each, bringing them to their knees, while Illia finished them both off with an ice spike to the chest.

The hagraven walked forward, and fired a fireball. Once more, Marcurio stepped forward and blocked the spell with a ward. As soon as the explosion cleared, both men ran forward with their melee weapons, and hacked at the hagraven. The beastly woman wasn't able to withstand two skilled sources of close range damage, and was cut down quickly, doing nothing but scratches to the two men.

"Are you ok with doing this?" Marcus asked, wiping the blood off his sword, "these people are those you grew up amongst, after all."

Illia took a breath and hesitantly glanced at the corpses, before sighing and shaking her head, "No… none of these people were ever very kind to me… And many of them haven't been here long. I might not like to do it, but it still needs to be done."

"I understand..." Marcus nodded slowly, "as long as you're ok with it."

Marcus and Marcurio moved on ahead. Illia almost frowned to herself. She hadn't really expected anyone to care about how she felt about this, least of all a random adventurer whom she'd only met an hour ago.

They forged onward, coming across a locked door that Illia said they'd need to find the key for, before Marcus just shouted the door down with 'Unrelenting Force' and walked on ahead. After fighting off a few more isolated witches, the group reached the top of the tower.

"Alright," Illia said, taking several deep breaths, "Mother should be just outside this door. I have a plan."

Marcus said, "Let's hear it."

"I'll… I'll present you as the sacrifice I was supposed to bring all along, with Marcurio here as a 'backup'. Play along while Mother begins the ritual. When the moment is right, I'll strike first. Then, together, we can… we can kill her."

"Not a bad plan, as far as plans go," Marcurio admitted, "better than Marcus' plan to deal with the dragon earlier, anyway."

Marcus tilted his head sideways and frowned, "I didn't make a plan to deal with the dragon..."

"Exactly."

"Oh."

Marcus turned to face Illia, "Are you sure you're ok to kill her?"

Marcurio nodded in agreement, "yeah, she is still your mother, you know."

Illia sighed, and nodded sadly, "I've thought this through, and it's the only way. She's too far gone. She's been corrupted, lost to the hags. At least when she dies, she can be free again."

Illia nodded quickly to herself, and clenched her fists, steeling herself and affirming her mind of the idea of killing her mother.

"She might have to die," Marcus said, "but that doesn't mean you have to do it. Are you sure you want to go through that door with us?"

Illia thought it over. The offer was tempting. Her mother had to die, but the idea that she wouldn't have to watch or contribute to it happening was appealing…

"No..." Illia sighed, shaking her head, "Mother is a powerful mage, you'll need my help. We'll stick to the plan."

"It's probably for the best," Marcurio said quietly, "but that doesn't mean it'll be easy. You're a brave girl."

Marcus felt tempted to comment that this was probably Marcurio's first instance of saying something nice, but felt that this situation wasn't the best time to say such a thing.

Instead, he simply nodded once at them both, and said, "Let's go."

Illia walked up behind her mother, and bowed to her. "Greetings, Mother."

"Daughter." The woman replied, "who are these men you have brought before me?"

"The subjects you asked for," the young girl replied, "I brought an extra in case we need a 'backup'. Payment has already been discussed, of course."

"I see."

Illia's mother had a harsh face, like she'd spent too long scowling and the expression had become set into the lines on her features. Her hair was an unhealthy shade of grey, and she wore the same black robes as the rest of the witches. She walked over to Marcus and looked him up and down. Marcus felt exceedingly uncomfortable under the old witch's gaze.

"Splendid..." the hag murmured, before gesturing at a chair in front of a fire brazier, "I'm Silvia, please sit in the chair behind me. This will only take a second."

Marcus complied, walking over and sitting in the chair. Given the fact that the witch didn't attempt to disarm him or remove his armour, he guessed that whatever ritual they were intending on doing involved a very quick, very sudden magical death for him. He really hoped that Illia knew what she was doing, because he didn't want to die. Not so much for his sake, but for the rest of the world.

Dimly, he smiled to himself. If he was actually doing this for real, then Silvia would be killing herself, by killing him. Then again, if she actually knew, she'd no doubt try and do some other freaky ritual to extract his Dragonborn abilities or something. In his admittedly limited experience with these types, Marcus had seen them doing very 'experimental' magic and rituals. The sort of stuff that would probably, in a hundred years or so, end up being in a magical book of what **not** to do.

Silvia frowned at Marcus' seemingly distracted attitude.

"What did my daughter tell you about what we needed you for?" she asked while frowning.

"Oh! Uh..." Marcus hastily thought up an excuse, "she said you needed me for a type of hallucination spell. Completely harmless."

"I see..." she nodded slowly, and turned away to hide a vindictive smile, like a hunter who's caught a rabbit in a snare. She thought Marcus was completely oblivious, which means the next stage of her plans could go even smoother.

She walked over to the brazier, and began muttering rapid chants in a low voice. Behind her, Illia slowly nodded to Marcurio standing a few metres away, and drew her dagger. Marcus felt that he was starting to get slightly sleepy. His head felt really heavy all of a sudden. He just wanted to lie back in this comfortable chair and sleep.

Realizing that this must be part of the ritual, Marcus fought the tired sensation, and dug his fingernails into his palms to stay awake.

Then Illia's voice cut through the sleepy daze covering his eyes.

"I can't let you do this Mother! You have to die, now!"

Illia's mother screamed, "What! You wretch!"

Instantly, the sleepy daze Marcus began to fade, and he threw himself off the chair onto the ground, blinking the spots out of his vision. He coughed and blinked while on his hands and knees. As he regained a more solid visual view, he could see Illia's mother conjuring wards and firing spells out of both hands, effectively keeping both attacks from Marcurio and Illia at bay. There was also a greenish sheen to her body, indicating she'd also used a magical armour spell.

Marcurio swung an overhead strike with his mace, so the old woman conjured a physical ward to block the attack, then blasted a lightning bolt at his legs, and knocked him prone. Illia's mother then whirled around and casted a magical ward to block an incoming ice spike from Illia, before launching one of her own back, forcing Illia to cast her own ward, giving the old woman time to launch another attack at Marcurio.

The Silvia seemed to move incredibly fast, blocking attacks from all directions. She saw every move coming, and had a defense and subsequent offense prepared. Illia had been right, her mother really was a powerful mage.

Marcus clambered to his feet, and stared at the mage, trying to break through the haze that was clouding his mind. He saw things happen in front of his eyes, but interpreted them a second later.

He saw Marcurio get knocked back several metres by a powerful fireball spell, his robes and hair singed. Illia's Mother then focused on her daughter, launching a barrage of fire and ice spells. The young girl could hardly sustain her ward.

Once he was on his feet, Marcus quickly drew his sword, and thought quickly. Silvia was a very adept mage, to the point where she could see every move coming, and thus counter it. Marcurio looked to be in a bad way, and Illia would soon follow. Then a thought flashed through his mind. If Illia didn't know anything about the Dragonborn, or the Thu'um, then there was a chance her mother didn't either…

Marcus held his sword in both hands, and took a deep breath.

"Wuld!"

The shout propelled him forward, crossing the space separating him from the old woman in a second. Silvia, expecting to not have to deal with Marcus for at least another 10 seconds, had only enough time to turn to face the unexpected threat, the beginnings of a ward spell curling in her hand, before Marcus ran her through with his sword, burying the blade to its hilt. While the mage armor spell she'd activated was still active, the intense speed of the sword cut through that, her robes, and the flesh underneath in an instant.

Illia's mother gasped, her eyes going wide. A second later, her knees gave out and she crumpled to the ground. The ensuing silence was in stark contrast to the hectic action that had just happened. The only sound Marcus could hear was his own heart beating loudly, and his rapid breathing.

After removing his sword from the body, Marcus walked over and checked on Marcurio. The man had several burns, and was rather dazed, but otherwise well. Marcus crouched beside him, and poked the young man's face.

"Hng..." Marcurio groaned and held his arms up weakly in front of him. He seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness every few seconds. The fire explosion probably did a number on his hearing too. The guy would need to spend some time in the temple of Mara, with the healers.

Marcus heard Illia behind him, shuffling nervously.

"Is he ok?" she asked tentatively.

Marcus shrugged, "he's not great, but he'll pull through, easily. He's a tough bastard, from what I've seen."

Illia nodded, and looked over at her mother's body, her body language emanating a very saddened feel. Marcus moved up behind her. "I'm… sorry," he said.

Illia shook her head angrily, "Don't be sorry for me… If I would have known it would come to this… I'd…" She breathed out a defeated sigh. "I guess my real mother died long ago."

"It isn't easy, going against family," Marcus said solemnly, "but take solstice in the fact that you did the right thing."

"Ok," Illia sighed in relief, before nodding toward Marcurio's groaning body, "let's get him out of here. I've seen enough of this place to last a lifetime."

"I'll bet."

* * *

Marcurio was sipping a herbal remedy, in the temple of Mara in Riften while lying on one of their recovery beds. Marcus sat beside him, reading through a book. Illia walked in, dressed in a different set of robes, similar to what Marcurio wore, except for women. It was the first time either of them had seen her without her hood on, so their faces both showed surprise.

Illia had relatively short black hair, going no lower than her jawline. It was cut neatly, which was unexpected due to her almost hermit-like lifestyle. Her eyes were hazel, though nowhere near as vibrantly orange as Marcus'. She had a small scar under the left eye that reached halfway down her cheek. Her face was small and petite, as well as perfectly symmetrical in terms of its proportions. Truth be told, she was very pretty.

"Just how old did you say you were?" Marcurio asked with a grin. Marcus elbowed him in the arm, urging him to be serious.

Illia blushed, looked at the floor shyly, "A bit over 18..."

Marcus looked her up and down, "where'd you get those robes from?"

"Oh! The court mage gave them to me after I helped her with a problem in her experiments. Nothing serious, I just have her a little bit of external advice."

Marcus muttered to himself, "should've tried giving her a little bit of sanity..."

"Anyway," Illia said, turning to face Marcus and tilting her head toward the door., "Could I borrow you for a second? I have something I need to ask."

"Sure," Marcus nodded, and stood up, following Illia out. At the door he looked back and grinned at Marcurio. "It's not as if he's going anywhere, after all." Then Marcus turned and walked out, oblivious to the mage's annoyed expression.

"Whoreson..." Marcurio muttered after him.

Marcus and Illia walked out to the front of the temple, and sat on the steps.

Illia took a deep breath before speaking, "I wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing next, after Marcurio has gotten better."

Marcus shrugged, "I don't really know. He'll probably not want to go on any adventures for a while, so I think I'll leave him here. As for myself… I'm not sure. I tend not to think too much about what lies ahead of me. It gets pretty daunting if I do."

"Well..." Illia shifted nervously, wringing her hands, "whatever you do end up doing… would you need, or want, the help of an ice mage, by any chance?"

Marcus looked over at her, connecting the dots and understanding what she was implying. She looked back nervously, her pretty face contorted with worry.

Illia began to pick at her nails, fidgeting nervously, "I just… I want to see the world. I want to do good things. I feel like I can achieve that if I go with you..."

Marcus thought hard, staring at the stone steps beneath him. It's not that he didn't want Illia along. She seemed like a nice enough soul, and would certainly be handy in a fight, but he didn't want her to be in danger. He felt as if there had already been enough of that in her life. Danger and his own travels went hand-in-hand. Regardless, Marcus knew that Illia probably already understood this, to some extent, and no doubt the reward of seeing and improving the world outweighed such danger. Who was he to determine how others should live their lives?

Marcus smiled at her, "I'd be glad to have you along."

Illia's face lit up with joy, and she squealed in delight, wrapping her arms around Marcus in a tight hug. Marcus was a bit stunned at the sign of affection, but figured he should probably return the hug, so he did.

Illia smiled against the fabric of Marcus' shirt, breathing out out a happy sigh. He radiated large amounts of warmth, which made the hug that much more comfortable. She felt safe in his arms, for seemingly the first time in her life. She had no doubt they'd get into a fair bit of trouble and danger, but she didn't care. She had control of her own life for the first time, so even if it ended in a few days, it'd still be worth it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter took longer than expected to write. As it is, I doubt I've captured the characters very well, and some of the actions scenes are probably very clunky. Still, I don't want to get too far behind in my weekly schedule. If you have any questions, or criticisms, or praise, feel free to review or PM me. Next chapter will be probably the same length, maybe a bit shorter. It'll be a minor unique quest I thought up involving Marcus and Illia.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	15. Chapter 15

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 15 – Shades Of Insanity

Marcus knelt down next to the firewood, and summoned a small flame into his hand. He gently held the flame against some of the smaller sticks and kindling, until they began to burn. Once the flame had set, he sat back and extinguished the flame in his hand. Beside him, Illia shuffled a bit closer to the growing campfire, eager to be closer to its warmth. They sat in silence for a while, looking at the fire. The only sound in the area was the soft crackle of the wood, and the rustling of the Rift's trademark orange trees, with the night sky above.

It was a fairly bright night, with a large full moon. Marcus smiled as he looked up at it. Once upon a time, he would've felt unnatural, primal stirrings within him at such a sight. He was glad he'd made the right decision and banished the beast blood from himself. Aela wasn't particularly pleased at becoming the only remaining werewolf in the circle, but Marcus didn't really care. Marcus was also looking forward to a restful sleep this night, which is something else he wouldn't have had if he stayed as a werewolf.

"Hey," Illia said quietly.

"Hmm?"

She tucked a loose hair strand behind her ear, and looked over at Marcus. "How does being half dragon work, exactly?"

Marcus chuckled and shook his head, "The 'half dragon' bit is more poetic, from what I can tell. I'm told I just have the soul of a dragon."

Illia tilted her head to the side, "What about the 'Dragon blood' that Marcurio said you had when we said goodbye to him this morning?"

Marcus scratched the side of his face, and thought, "I'm not too sure. He's not the first to use that term, but as far as I can tell, my blood isn't different to that of a normal person. Dragonblood is black, in any event, while mine is red."

"Hmm." Illia looked at him thoughtfully. It was somewhat funny watch him struggle to explain his own body. One would've thought it'd be a subject he'd understand completely, but that was evidently not the case.

She said, "You don't look like the kind of person who contains a Dragon soul, or several for that matter. No offense," she added quickly, not wanting to upset him.

Marcus shrugged, "No offense taken. I certainly don't feel that way either, so it makes sense that I don't look it."

"How do you feel?" Illia asked, staring at him more intently, curious as to the inner workings of the man before her. 'In general, that is. Do you feel more… dragon-ish?"

Marcus made an 'I don't know' shrugging gesture, bringing both hands up open-palmed, level with his shoulders, "What kind of question is that? How am I meant to describe the sensation of existing? It's probably the same as it is for you, to be honest. Apart from a select few moments, that is."

Illia rested her chin on her hand, and shuffled a bit closer to him. "What moments would they be?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at the girl's curiosity. He couldn't say he enjoyed talking about himself this much, particularly about this certain subject. It made sense in his mind, that the more people knew about his 'condition' the less they'd see and treat him as an actual person. Whether or not that was called for, Marcus didn't know. Still, he doubted Illia had any ill intentions, so he decided to go along.

"Well," he rubbed his chin, "I guess I only ever really feel different when I'm fighting a dragon. I tend to do things without even thinking, and perform them to a better standard than I would normally, even if I had thought it through."

"To what extent?"

Marcus shrugged, "Combat-related things. Dodging, jumping, attacking. If it helps me kill the dragon, I'm generally better at it, at the time."

"Huh..." Illia looked at him thoughtfully. Marcus felt uncomfortable under the gaze. He didn't know why.

She said, "So, I suppose these things would be inherent in any Dragonborn? I mean, it makes sense that destined dragon killers are actually better at killing dragons than the next person."

Marcus nodded, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

They lapsed into silence, each one thinking. Marcus decided to end the conversation before any more questions were asked. He stood up and brushed himself off. "I'm going to see if I can hunt anything for us tonight."

Illia frowned, "But you don't have a bow? How will you kill it without it running away?"

"I'll just knock it out with a shout or something." With those words, Marcus walked off, into the forest.

Illia's frown deepened, and she looked back at the fire. "That sounds like cheating..." she muttered to herself.

Marcus and Illia sat around the fire once more, watching it slowly die down. He'd ended up catching a few rabbits, so he'd made a rabbit stew for the two of them. Illia had offered to help cook, but Marcus frankly didn't trust her culinary skills after living in a creepy hagraven cult for most of her life.

"You didn't strike me as a cook," Illia said, breaking the silence.

Marcus shrugged, "Just because I'm not in an inn, doesn't mean I have to eat dried rations and such. I've had some practice as well. This isn't the first time I've camped under the stars."

Illia smiled, "Well, you're master of many fields, aren't you?"

Marcus smiled back somewhat shyly. "I try."

Then he crawled over and placed his small bedroll close to the remnants of the fire. "Who'll take first watch?" He asked.

Illia stood up, "You made dinner, so I'll do it."

Marcus nodded, "Come wake me up after the first three hours."

She nodded in reply, picked up her small dagger, and walked a little way away to a large boulder sticking out of the ground. Illia clambered up it, and sat herself down at the top, getting comfortable in her little vantage point. Marcus laid out, using his rolled up bedroll as a pillow. Some people preferred to unroll it and sleep on top of it, but Marcus didn't see the need when the grass was probably just as soft. Instead, he used it as a pillow so his neck didn't end up feeling sore in the morning.

Then, slowly, Marcus drifted to sleep, while Illia routinely scanned the area from the boulder.

* * *

Marcus awoke with a frown. Something was wrong. Something had woken him up. He stopped breathing for a second, and focused on listening for a short moment, trying to see if there was anything moving about near him. There wasn't. He heard nothing but the steady chirp of crickets, and his own heartbeat. That couldn't have been what woke him up.

He frowned deeper, his mind still slowly waking up. He thought hard, trying to recall why waking up meant something. He looked up at the stars above him. The constellations looked all similar, and the moon was still the same pale circle it was when he went asleep. Marcus fiddled with his bedroll pillow, straining his still sleepy mind to figure out what was wrong.

Then he remembered. Illia hadn't woken him up.

It seems his mind had subconsciously been expecting that gentle shake of the shoulder, the whispered voice. Whatever parts of his mind remained active when he was sleeping, had been quietly awaiting that wake-up call. When it never came, it knew something was up. Marcus sat up quickly, and peered over at the rock Illia had positioned herself on. He couldn't see her. Marcus stood up, and began quickly walking over to the rock. Maybe she'd decided to let him sleep a bit longer? Maybe she had moved, or had decided to go take a bathroom break? It wasn't probable, but it wasn't impossible either. Marcus quickened his pace.

He clambered up the rock to where Illia had seated herself, and looked around. His heart dropped into his stomach, and began beating much, much more rapidly. In the bright moonlight, he could see numerous scuff marks on the stone, as well as bits where the weaker, thinner rock had been chipped. Clear evidence of a struggle. There, as a nail in the coffin, was Illia's dagger. A simple steel thing, glinting away at him, on the side of the rock. It had been half sheathed, or perhaps halfway drawn, when something had happened and it had been knocked aside.

The evidence was insurmountable, and Marcus began feeling very, very scared. Something had happened to Illia, something bad. He scaled down the rock, and looked at the ground around the area. He could see small scuff marks and scratched dirt leading a short way away from the rock, evident of Illia kicking and struggling against whoever was dragging her away. Marcus followed the signs of disturbed ground and dirt a little further along, and saw them turn into two long lines carved in the dirt. Marcus' heart turned icy. Illia had stopped struggling at that point, and had been simply dragged, her heels digging into the dirt, leaving the two lines. Whether she'd been knocked unconscious, or killed… he didn't know.

He frantically searched the ground near the two lines, for any blood, but didn't see any. That's not to say she wasn't killed, though. There was plenty of magical deaths and inhaled poisons to raise Marcus' worry levels. He really hoped she was still alive, but either way, he had to follow those tracks. Marcus continued along a bit further, another 30 metres or so, where he came across a set of horse tracks. It was plain enough, with the almost-circle shapes of the horseshoes. So Illia's alive or dead body had been put on the back of a horse.

Marcus thought for a few seconds, then sprinted back in the direction of the camp, grabbing his sword and dagger, before running back to the start of the horse tracks. There was still his bedroll and a few other things at the campsite, but every second he wasted, Illia remained in danger. Either Illia was dead, in which case he needed to make sure whoever killed her received treatment in kind, or she was kidnapped, in which case he needed to hurry to make sure nothing bad further happened to her.

He crouched down beside the start of the horse tracks, and looked at the direction they were heading in. They went off to the north, maintaining a relatively clear set of tracks. The horse must have been rather large, or had large metal horseshoes, to leave such tracks. There was no knowing how far ahead the culprit was, where they were headed, or why they took Illia.

Marcus started off at a brisk jog, following the tracks under the moonlit sky.

* * *

The tracks went on for a long way. Marcus was lucky they were so clear and well-defined, or else he would have lost them at any number of points. Marcus ended up following the horse tracks down a hunter's trail down the side of the cliff separating the Rift and Eastmarch. The sun was just starting to peek its head above the horizon. Marcus felt tired after running for most of the night with little sleep, but he made efforts to deliberately block all sensations from his mind. He could rest when he's dead.

Marcus reached the bottom of the cliff, at the end of the hunter's trail. He looked around for the tracks, but couldn't see them anymore. The harder, more dense volcanic ground of Eastmarch didn't leave the same impressions in the ground that the softer ground in the Rift did. Marcus began to feel more worried and anxious once more. He needed to look around, maybe see if he could find any trace of the unknown rider, or maybe their location was close by, if he could get high enough.

Marcus decided to follow the nearby river, until he came across maybe a tall tree or a rocky hill he could use as a vantage point. Horses tended to need a fair bit of water, as would the rider at some point, so logically speaking they would remain relatively close to the flowing source. He wasn't keen to leave the last known location of the rider by a large stretch, for fear of heading in the wrong direction. On the other hand, every second he wasted walking over the same uneventful stretch of land was another second that Illia was potentially getting further away.

 _The first day of our travels,_ Marcus thought guiltily to himself as he ran alongside the edge of the river's ravine, _I lost her on the first day…_ Some friend he was.

Marcus followed the river for another hour or so, until he came to a decrepit house that stopped him in his tracks. The house was close to the river, and had a fallen tree embedded halfway through its roof. What made the house so interesting to Marcus, was that it had a large horse outside it, tied to a section of the fallen tree.

The horse was strange, to say the least. It was wearing full battle armour, of Imperial design. Marcus hadn't seen anything like it since he was in Anvil, back in Cyrodiil, where he'd seen remnants of the Imperial heavy cavalry. He hadn't seen that type of plating in any of the Imperial legion in Skyrim, either. They tended not to deploy such heavily geared animals, it seemed. The horse was unkempt, with a long mane and unbrushed coat. Whatever it was doing in the middle of Skyrim, it wasn't in active duty.

That wasn't what drew Marcus closer to the trashed house though. What made him stop moving, and draw his sword was the horseshoes that the animal had on. As suiting the full battle armour, the horse had large metal horseshoes on, ideal for a thundering charge head-on into enemy territory.

Such a thing matched the large, clear tracks he had found and followed in the rift. Thus, it was a reasonable assumption that whoever had taken Illia was now hiding in that building.

Marcus prayed Illia was still alive, but he couldn't think of any logical reason why anyone would take her. If they were a simple thief, they would have simply killed her and dumped her body, after taking any valuables. If that was the case though, they would have simply left the body near the rock. Marcus didn't know why anyone would take her alive, and carry her such a long way. He sorely hoped she wasn't actually floating down the river, face-down.

Marcus crept up to the house, trying not to startle the horse and give away his position. The animal didn't seem to bothered. It looked tired, as a matter of fact, and rather old. Marcus ignored the creature further, and slowly looked into the house. He didn't see anything immediately, just the remains of an old house, with overgrown plants sprouting up through the cracked floorboards. Marcus climbed through the hole in the wall left by the tree, and glanced around. In the centre of the main room, an old corpse lay. It had been impaled by a certain downward-facing branch on the tree, and thus the body had been pinned to the ground. The fingers and much of the face had been chewed off by wild animals. The smell was less than pleasant, but this wasn't the first time Marcus had seen an old corpse.

He looked around more. He didn't seen anyone else in this plain, one-story building. If it wasn't for the horse outside, which Marcus was certain had to be from Illia's assailant, he would've dismissed this place as a plain example of bad luck, and moved on. Marcus checked the intact desks and furniture more thoroughly. The body in the centre of the room was at least a few weeks old, but there was signs of activity since then around the building. The books on the shelf had varying levels of dust on them, and when he touched one of the torch sconces on the wall, his finger came away black with soot, indicating they had been lit semi-recently.

For the second time in the last 12 hours, Marcus felt that something was wrong. He felt that he was missing something… something important. He walked over to the dead man in the centre of the room, and knelt down to examine the body. Marcus tried not to breath in that heavily, as the smell was worse up close. The dead man seemed to be some sort of mage. He had the tattered remains of black robes wrapped around his body, by the looks of it. Marcus frowned to himself, and looked around. Apart from the remains of a few alchemy ingredients hanging from the roof, there wasn't really much around to indicate that the place belonged to a mage. Marcus would've thought the man would have at least had an alchemical lab or an enchanting table, like most mages seemed to have in their homes.

This was unusual. Plus Marcus also figured that if the mage was living out in the middle of nowhere, there wouldn't be too much of a need to hide their magical practices from the prying eyes of others. There should be at least some kind of magical equipment on display, somewhere. He began searching about the place, looking for something out of place or unusual. After a few minutes of searching, he found it.

The answer to Marcus' question lay behind a stack of barrels in the corner. They were piled two high, shapes into a sort of cube, except the 'stack' was missing two barrels on the inside. After moving them apart, Marcus could see a small trapdoor in the floor. He eased it open, and looked down. Compared to the bright morning sunlight, inside the hole was very dark. He couldn't see very much. Nonetheless, he slowly lowered himself in, took a deep breath, and descended down the ladder.

Marcus descended 5 metres, and until his feet touched a woven mat. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. It turns out his thoughts about the dead mage were correct. He seemed to be in a larger, underground set of rooms, carved out of the dirt and rock. There were numerous magical and alchemical instruments scattered throughout the area he could see. He was in a smaller room, that appeared to be a storeroom for various ingredients and tools like soul gems and calipers. The wooden wall to his right had an open doorway, leading to another room. Marcus unsheathed his sword and slowly crept into it.

The next room was less of a room, and more of a small cavern. It wasn't flanked by wooden walls, it just had rock. It was longer, with an enchanting table and alchemy lab on the right and left walls. At the far end, was a makeshift prison, with a large cage, and sets of shackles on the wall. Illia was in the cage, clearly bound and gagged, in a kneeling position. She look tired, her gaze cast downwards. Directly next to the cage was a chair, in which a bearded man sat.

He wore a very tattered and damaged set of armour. It looked like Imperial Officer armour, except many of its large steel plates were missing, and what remained was all battered and torn. The red cloth and leather was dirty and smudged. Marcus scanned the room, looking for places he could hide. There were tables here and there, as well as a crate or two. The mage had obviously been experimenting with travelers, indicated by the cage, as well as doing other magical… things, with the other equipment. The other man, the soldier, must have simply been using the place as somewhere to rest. He didn't look like the type who would settle down. He wouldn't have kept the horse if he was.

The bearded man looked downcast, staring at his hands. Neither had noticed him, so Marcus crept out of the first room, and into the second. He stuck to the shadows, and moved very slowly. As he got closer, he the soldier began talking. Not to him, to Illia. Marcus clung to the side of a crate, one with sacks on top, and listened to what was being said.

"They gave me a medal, you know..." the man said, "it had someone's face on it. I threw it away afterward. It didn't help."

Illia mumbled something under a tired breath. She sounded very weary. Marcus immediately felt a pang in his heart, followed by anger. He peeked out behind the crate, looking at the man. At this distance, he could see the man's eyes. They had a startling tiredness to them, the kind that wouldn't go away, no matter how much sleep he had.

"It had my name on it too… 'Salvianus'. The letters were golden, just like they were. The golden colour never left them, even when they were dead… Their blood was always red though, as I knew it would be."

"Let me go..." Illia breathed quietly. Marcus had a feeling it wasn't the first time she'd said it. Her voice had a defeatist tone to it, as if she knew her request wouldn't be heeded before she'd even said it. Salvianus ignored her, and kept talking softly, still staring at his hands.

"He explained it all to me, of course, back when I still understood. The necessity, the risk, the duty. I don't remember… but I still know."

Illia spoke again, louder this time, trying to harness a bit of strength back into her voice. "Let me leave."

Salvianus sighed, and took his eyes off his calloused hands for the first time, and looked over at her. "I know it's hard seeing me again, Fera, after so long. I understand if you don't understand… It'll just take a little time for us to get reacquainted. I missed you for so long..."

"I'm not Fera..." Illia said weakly, in a tired voice, sick of repeating the same words over and over again."

The veteran ignored her, reaching over and grabbing a sword off a small table next to him. Marcus stiffened as he unsheathed the blade, but it was only to sharpen it with a whetstone he produced from a tattered pocket. As Salvianus looked at the blade, and sighed once more.

"This blade is a lot like the one I thought killed you, Fera… The man of gold picked it up off a fallen brother… I can't even remember his name… there were so many. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you… but I'll make it right again, just give me time. I know it's hard, but you'll see this for the best soon enough."

The man looked up, and stared blankly into space, his eyes misting over, and filling with the sparkle of tears. "There were so many… all my fallen brothers, all with the same face. A dozen battles, a dozen skirmishes, a dozen ambushes. The same lifeless eyes… the same pale skin, leaked of the red life… whispering their loved ones in the last breath… Their fate never seemed to reflect my own."

Salvianus looked over at Illia, staring into her hazel eyes. "You always had the prettiest eyes, Fera. They remind me of the fires all across Lake Rumare, lit up like stars come to Earth… beautiful."

Marcus had heard enough. The man was a veteran of the great war, clearly, but had lost his mind after it had ended. Marcus had heard the same story before, and saw a few similar cases in some of the cities in Cyrodiil. War takes its toll on the living, as well. He didn't know who Fera was, but it wasn't Illia, and the old man needed to let her go.

Marcus stood up out of his hiding place, and walked into the light. He hoped this could be resolved peacefully. Maybe there was still a bit of sanity left in the old guy to appeal to. However, as soon as Marcus revealed himself, Salvianus jumped up with surprising speed and brandished the sword at him.

"Who are you?!" he shouted, "What do you want from us?!"

Illia's eyes widened at seeing Marcus, and a muffled cry of joy came from behind her gag. Marcus held his hands up in the universal "I'm not holding a weapon and I'm not a threat" gesture. He took another step toward Salvianus and the cage.

"Stay back!" The veteran held the sword out straighter and leveled it at Marcus' throat. "I already killed the three hunters that tried to take her from me, one more person won't make a difference!"

"Listen to me," Marcus said slowly and calmly, "That girl is called Illia, she's a mage from a tower to the east of Riften. She's never seen you before."

Salvianus snarled at him. "I won't let you trick me… I failed to protect her once, and I won't make the same mistake twice."

Then, after speaking those words, Salvianus lunged with and attack directed toward Marcus' throat. Marcus leaned backward, and took a few quick backward steps, and the blade just barely nicked the skin. Enough to cause a small cut, but little else. This veteran was fast, very fast. He must have been the survivor of countless conflicts. Marcus kept taking steps backward, and drew his sword and dagger. It looked like he'd have to hurt the poor madman.

Salvianus lunged forward again, thrusting for Marcus' midsection. The blade came forward very quickly, so Marcus quickly spun to the right instead of trying to dodge. The blade scraped against the plating covering Marcus' ribs, being deflected instead of piercing the armour. Marcus then slashed horizontally at him, aiming to slash him across the chest and perhaps incapacitate him. He still didn't want to kill him. The man was unstable, but maybe something could be done to help him later on.

Then Salvianus flicked his sword up and parried it away, simultaneously stepping forward and punching Marcus in the face with his other free hand. He then followed up and slashed at Marcus' face, but the punch knocked Marcus back so much it only managed to graze his cheek. Marcus stumbled backwards. He didn't want to kill this guy, but alternatives were running out. He was a very competent duelist, it seemed, and Marcus knew one mistake meant death. You don't survive countless battles in the largest war Tamriel has ever seen without being exceptionally competent at fighting.

They traded blows for another minute, their blades clashing, lunging, and parrying countless times. Illia's eyes kept getting wider and wider with fear as the battle continued. Salvianus kicked Marcus in the chest, and held his sword in both hands, bringing it down in an overhead blow. Marcus reacted quickly, shouting out a single-word Thu'um.

"Fus!"

The small blue circle of energy hit the veteran, and knocked him back slightly, interrupting his attack, Marcus saw an opportunity to end this, so he thrusted forward with his sword, aiming for roughly the centre of the man's chest. As expected, Salvianus showed remarkable speed, even in his staggered state, and brought his own sword up across his chest, and parried it away to his left. However, this left the veteran in an exposed position, as Marcus planned, with his right arm stretched across his chest to the left, leaving his right side undefended. Marcus took a quick step forward, and flicked his dagger around into a hammer-grip, then buried it into the neck of the man in front of him. Salvianus gasped once, his eyes going wide. His mouth slowly formed the word 'no' but sound didn't come out. Marcus dropped his sword and grabbed a hold of the veteran's right arm with his, making sure the man didn't try any last minute suicidal attacks against him.

Salvianus crumpled to the ground, dead. Marcus breathed out a sad sigh, and whispered softly.

"For what it's worth… I'm sorry."

* * *

Marcus and Illia were walking along the road to Whiterun, side by side. He'd broken the lock on her cage and untied her. He barely had enough time to apologize himself before he was bombarded by her flowing stream of apologies and series of self-blames. Marcus tried to stem the tide somewhat, but Illia seemed to feel like the whole thing was her fault and needed to express her gratitude and fear in the most vocal way possible. He tried to say that it wasn't anyone's fault, but she hardly let him. She kept talking and thanking him and saying sorry while he took the armour off the battle horse and set it loose, and for most of the walk back to one of the main roads.

Once they were on the road, she quietened down a bit, finally allowing Marcus to say a few words.

He said, "I know you feel as though it was your fault, as though you ought to be eternally sorry or whatever for what you've done. I know you wish you'd been smarter, or stronger, or however better you needed to be to avoid the situation in the first place. Am I correct?"

Illia opened her mouth to say something, looking at Marcus with a worried face, but then she closed it and looked at the ground passing underneath her.

Marcus half-smiled at the shamefaced girl. She seemed to act 10 years younger whenever she felt ashamed. "I want you to know that you're wrong," he said, "The blame doesn't lie with anyone. It wasn't your fault. Hell, it probably wasn't even Salvianus' fault if you think about it."

"What?" Illia frowned, "How could you say that? He killed three random hunters that he came across while he dragged me around the province!"

Marcus sighed, and looked up at the sky. "It isn't really that common here in Skyrim, although I dare say it will be soon enough after this damn civil war, but in Cyrodiil I came across various veterans in almost the same state."

He looked sideways at her as they walked, she matched his gaze with a curious and anxious one of her own.

"War changes different people in different ways, but it tends to 'kill' more people than those that are buried, if you get my meaning. Salvianus was just a poor bastard who lived through enough fights, and lost enough of what mattered to him, to not come back in one piece, mentally."

"Does it happen to everyone?" Illia asked with a worried look.

"No, not everyone. Some people are more… resistant than others, in a sense. Or luckier."

"I don't understand."

Marcus chewed his lip, thinking hard. Illia looked at him while he concentrated. His face somewhat twisting to the side. The random thought ' _He looks cute'_ popped into her mind. She blinked and shook her head to clear such thoughts, scolding herself.

"Imagine everyone has a bucket," Marcus said eventually, picking his words, "it's in random, different sizes depending on the person, but everyone has one. With every bad thing someone sees, or does, it fills up. When it gets full, that person… becomes like Salvianus, to differing extents based on the actual trauma."

"I see…" Illia nodded slowly, coming to terms with the condition. "So Salvianus wasn't really to blame, the war was?"

Marcus nodded, "The war, and the centuries of political and diplomatic decisions that caused it."

Illia breathed out, "The real world is very complicated..."

Marcus grinned at her, "Not having second thoughts about coming with me?"

She rapidly shook her head at him, "Not on your life."

He laughed, and then they walked in silence for a little while longer. It was midday, so plenty of birds and animals were about. After appreciating the sounds of nature, Illia spoke again, with another question.

"How large is your bucket?"

Marcus faltered a little, almost coming to a stop in the middle of the road. "Er… What?"

"Your bucket," Illia said, frowning, "You've probably seen a lot of bad things, being an adventurer and Dragonborn. How full is it?"

 _Seen a lot of bad things,_ Marcus thought, _and done a lot of bad things…_

"Marcus?" Illia looked at him with a concerned expression, waiting for an answer.

He looked sideways at her, an apologetic look on his face and a shrug on his shoulders. "I can't say for sure, but I guess it's one of two things..."

He sighed and looked at the hills in the distance. "It's either bottomless… or it's already overflowing."

Illia was mentally and physically taken aback by such a statement, but before she could inquire further, Marcus picked up the walking pace, looking at the sun's position in the sky.

"We better pick up the pace if we want to get to Whiterun before dark. We left all our sleeping stuff back in the Rift."

And with those words, the conversation was irrefutably ended, with Marcus walking forward ahead. Illia frowned to herself. The man whom she was rapidly growing to care about more, seemed to be quite the complicated individual. She hoped she could spend more time with him so she could learn more, and maybe help. Though, she didn't feel as if those were the only reasons behind wanting to spend more time with him. She didn't really want to admit that to herself, though.

Marcus looked at the gradually sinking sun as they walked. He knew he wasn't like Salvianus, but he also knew that he could very well have gotten close to being similar to him. Truth be told, if his bucket was indeed 'overflowing', it had been like that since before he'd even gotten into Skyrim.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: More unique stuff of my own creation in this chapter than any others. I would like to hear your thoughts on it. I'm happy with how it turned out, but I could be wrong. More hints at Marcus' tragic backstory in Cyrodiil. I wonder if by the time I actually get around to doing it, people will have pieced it together… Probably not, I'm being intentionally vague. Next chapter might be in a week and a little bit, as I need to sort out some ideas of where I'm going to go.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Notes:** **The next few chapters will cover the College of Winterhold quests. I don't really care too much about them, so most of the long, dreary bits like Mzulft and Saarthal will be off-screened, as it were. The only dungeon I'll actually cover will be Labyrinthian, because it's so sick. This is mainly to justify Marcus' increase in magical/enchanting knowledge. I'll try to justify/showcase his skills developing with books and teachers at later stages too. Leave a review/PM me for what type of destruction magic you want Marcus to use (Fire, Storm, Frost, or some other elemental type). I'm thinking fire and lightning, personally. I've also made the College a bit more realistic. They'll actually teach Marcus a few things free of charge, as you'd expect, instead of basically being a College where you pay through the nose in order to learn anything, but generally end up having to teach yoursel- Wait a minute… That's actually more realistic… Ah well.**

 **Also, since the vanilla Breylna looks kinda ugly, if you want a reference to how I describe her in this story, go to google images, and simply type in 'Skyrim Brelyna Mod' It should be one of the first pictures you see. It'll be a sort of close up one, out in the snow. Links don't seem to work on this website.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 16 - College Days

It had been a week since the 'incident' with Illia. Marcus had spent most of his time hunting in the plains around Whiterun with his elven bow, usually for animals, but occasionally for bandits. Illia accompanied him sometimes, as did Lydia. It seemed that whenever Illia was traveling with Marcus, Lydia wanted to come along as well. In fact, she insisted. Marcus didn't know why, but figured there wasn't any harm in it, and was glad in some regards for the extra company.

After a close call with an elven mage in one of these bandit encampments, Marcus had decided that he should learn a little more about magic. After speaking to Farengar however, it became clear that Marcus should travel to the College of Winterhold, as there wasn't much more that Farengar could teach him in the short term, and he didn't have the time to take on a full apprentice.

Marcus acknowledged this, and made plans to travel to the College of Winterhold. Both Lydia and Illia volunteered to come with him, but Marcus said that unless they also wanted to be students, it was unlikely that they'd get let in. In any event, Lydia wasn't really the sort to use magic, and Illia had a bit too much evil magic in her history to really get settled in that kind of environment. So, after packing early one morning, before anyone woke up, Marcus left for the college, on his own.

Marcus shivered against the cold. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to create a home in a place like Winterhold. He found it hard to believe that a place so naturally secluded and inhospitable was once the Capital of Skyrim. Naturally, it seemed the place that mages would want to hang out, as it wouldn't be worth it for an angry magic-hating nord mob to climb up the mountain, only to throw sticks and mushy fruit at mages. Though, that didn't explain why over the centuries, a town of nords assembled around the place, who would probably be magic-hating.

Regardless, Marcus was there to learn about magic, not history. He'd gotten tired of seeing Illia and Marcurio use impressive magical abilities like advanced destruction magic, wards, magical armour, and other handy spells. After the mishap with Illia and Salvianus, Marcus also wanted to see if there was a type of 'tracking' spell, in case he ever got into a similar situation.

One of his teachers back in Cyrodiil, the one who taught him the basic restoration magic, had often stated how magic wasn't a set thing, and anyone who invested enough time and energy into learning could weave almost any type of spell. Marcus, who was 10 years old at the time, asked if there was a spell that conjured sweet-rolls. The wizard frowned and responded with a tangent about the importance of intellectual caution in regards to magic.

But it was this sort of magical versatility that Marcus was hoping to rely on in future. His magical arsenal was weak, all things considered. He knew two rough flame spells, basic healing magic, and the beginnings of a ward that Marcurio had got halfway through teaching him before he got bored. That was it. Compared to the stories of mages who could incinerate armies, or bend an entire political court to their will, it wasn't much. Of course, Marcus had the Thu'um on his side, but his mouth and throat started bleeding if he used them too often. He'd spoken to the Greybeards about this, and they said it was about practice, like anything. He'd be able to use shouts better the more he learned, they said.

Marcus walked to the opposite side of town, past the rather inviting-looking inn, past a quarreling brother and sister, and toward the ornate bridge on the far side of town. As he walked up the ramp, a female high elf stepped out of the shadows and blocked his path. She was tall, and fair-skinned, as most high elves were. She was also pretty, in a pointy sort of way. Her face wore a less appealing frown however, and she deliberately stood in his way to prevent him from passing.

"Cross the bridge at your own peril!" She said firmly.

"Huh?" Marcus was visibly taken aback.

"The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!"

"Umm..." Marcus felt uncomfortable, standing in front of this angry elf woman. He had no idea what he had done to annoy her. "Have I done something wrong? I'm sorry if I have…"

Faralda frowned at the young man in front of her. Clearly, he was not of the intended audience that her 'performance' was met to dissuade. His somewhat confused and meek attitude gave him away immediately, if not his appearance. He was an aspiring student.

"You wish to enter the college?" she asked, eyebrows raised at his nordic looking armour, and two weapons. "You don't look like a mage."

"Well," Marcus smiled somewhat, "that's part of why I'm here, I want to become a better one..."

"Is that so?"

"It is. I would like to learn more magic, so I can face my… issues… a little better."

"Explain in more detail," Faralda said plainly.

Marcus sighed, and looked out to the right, where the ocean stretched far below, into the distance. "I want the power to overcome any challenges I might face, so others won't have to pay the price of my lack of aptitude. To go in further detail would be revealing a lot of things you probably don't want to know, to be honest."

Faralda raised an eyebrow at him, and thought for a moment. "Any school of magic you wish to focus on in particular?"

Marcus looked her in the eye, and shook his head. "I want to focus on all of them." He said firmly.

Faralda let the beginnings of a smile touch the edges of her lips. She could appreciate his ambition, if not his… ambiguity.

"Very well," she nodded, "it seems to College has what you seek. However, not everyone is let inside. A small test, if you will."

Marcus shrugged, "Ok. What sort of test, exactly?"

 _If she asks me to go fetch a hundred year old family heirloom as a 'test' of magical skill I'm going to be very annoyed…_ Marcus thought to himself. He probably would still do it, but he would be annoyed, none the less.

"The ability to heal another is very useful, and often provides various career opportunities for mages. Do you know the required spell?"

Marcus nodded, "Yeah. I've had some practice." He was better at healing himself, than others, but he still knew the basics.

Faralda said, "Ok, cast it on me. I'll be able to tell if you're good enough to enter."

Marcus nodded, and called the familiar yellow magic into his hands. He walked up to Faralda, and feeling rather self-conscious, placed his hands just in front of her chest, and channeled the magic into her. The air around the elf glowed a brilliant gold, and tendrils of bright energy swirled around her. Faralda gasped slightly, as the energy travelled into her, and took half a step back.

Marcus stopped immediately, fearing he'd done something wrong. It wouldn't be good to alienate or annoy a potential senior member of a group that he really wanted, and needed, to join. He stood straighter and assumed an apologetic look. "Sorry… did I do something wrong?"

Faralda shook her head, clearing it. "No… you did nothing wrong… Quite the opposite actually, you magic seems unusually… pure."

"Huh?" Marcus frowned, "How? It's no different to someone else's magic. In fact, I know a mercenary from Riften who's healing magic is twice as strong as mine."

Faralda raised an eyebrow at him, "How much practice have you had at healing other people?"

Marcus shrugged, "Not much. I heal myself more than others. Whenever I do heal other people, it's generally not to the extent that I would like... What makes my magic special?"

Faralda made a 'hmm' noise to herself, placing a delicate finger on her chin and eyeing Marcus up and down. Marcus didn't know what to make of the situation.

Faralda said, "don't worry about it. You are fit to enter the College, I think you'll be a superb addition. Welcome, apprentice."

She made a 'follow me' gesture and the two walked across the bridge. Faralda figured it would be best not to tell the young man what she had discovered. His magic might not have been that strong, but it was very, very pure, which meant it had the potential to become very strong. Not to mention that the 'mercenary' in Riften probably had years of experience on his side. It was as if the man had a stronger connection to Aetherius, the source of magicka, for some reason. She didn't want to tell the man due to the questions it would most likely raise in his mind, and because it was never a good idea to let a new student get ahead of himself.

Marcus meanwhile, was cursing whatever stupid deity thought it would be funny to make him 'unique' in practically every way imaginable.

* * *

Marcus stood nervously with another bunch of students, dressed in his new robes. They were nice, and clearly enchanted, so they were already better suited for magical practice than his old armour. He'd been given a brief tour of the college by a very mum-like woman. She was a late 30's breton, with a stern but fair attitude. She still retained the beauty of her younger years, but spoke with an educated and well-versed voice of a woman twice her age. As she showed him the basic facilities in the college, Marcus was glad he'd been let in. He could easily see his magical abilities growing in such a place. He would've enjoyed the tour a lot more if Mirabelle didn't remind him so much of what his own mother was like, though…

Some memories were best left buried.

Regardless, Marcus had been given a small room, with enough basic amenities to satisfy him. He'd changed into his new robes, and made his way quickly to the 'Hall of the Elements.'

He felt somewhat ashamed of himself, in a way. He, the great Dragonborn, a prophesied savior of the world, was feeling like a scared young student. Marcus tried to stand a little straighter, acting a bit more professional, but the atmosphere in the place made it tricky. All of sudden, Marcus felt like that anxious little boy growing up in Chorral, awaiting a look of disapproval from his tutors.

Marcus sighed at himself, and looked at the other members of the group. The other new 'students' were gathered around, with looks of nervousness in varying similarity to Marcus'. There was a nord man, around the same age as Marcus, a Khajit male, and a Dark Elf girl. The girl looked the most distracted. As if she had something hanging over her head.

Marcus knew the feeling all too well. He had the entire world over his.

An older man walked into the room, and began talking to them. He began by having everyone introduce themselves, starting with himself. He was called Tolfdir, and would be their more regular teacher. The nord was called Onmund, the khajit J'zargo, and the elf was Breylna Maryon. Apart from Tolfdir, they all had hoods on, like Marcus, so it was hard to see their faces.

Tolfdir began telling them about the dangers of magic, the potential harm that could come from over-use of magicka, and other safety-related advice. Marcus felt that he'd already gone beyond what Tolfdir would consider the safety parameters for magical use, on many occasions.

However, the others began to get upset at Tolfdir for simply lecturing them, and they wanted him to actually teach them some spells, or show them one, at least. Tolfdir tried to placate them, and steer them back on course, but the students were insistent. They wanted to learn magic, not be told about it.

In all this, Marcus had stayed quiet, simply watching from the side of the group. After a while, Tolfdir turned to him, and asked him a question.

"You've been quiet so far, young man, what do you think we should do?"

Marcus blinked, and didn't know what to say at first. "I… uh… I don't know. I think learning something practical is important, but safety shouldn't be understated..."

Tolfdir raised an eyebrow, "Not sticking to any one side? Well, that's ok for now. I guess we can learn something practical..."

There was assorted murmurs of excited agreement from the others. Tolfdir began teaching them ward spells, to continue with the safety theme. It took a few hours, and a lot of concentration from those present. Marcus learned a bit quicker, mainly because he'd had some prior knowledge from Marcurio. They even did a couple demonstrations, to the point where Tolfdir actually fired a firebolt at Marcus to showcase the strength of the ward. Marcus couldn't say that he liked being a target of attention, much less an actual target, but was glad nonetheless that he had grasped the basics.

They ended the lesson with a little history, with Tolfdir telling them in particular about nordic ruins, using a ruin named Saarthal that they'd recently started to excavate as a reference point. The old man had told them that almost every nordic ruin in Skyrim had some kind of backstory, or battle, to go along with it. Marcus surprised those present with his own knowledge on the subject, given the fact that he'd actually explored a few of those ruins. When asked how he knew about this, Marcus simply replied, 'books' and left it at that.

Afterwards, Marcus retired to his room and tried to wrap his head around a few books of magical theory and advanced spells he'd been given, before giving up and going to bed.

* * *

The next week followed a fairly basic schedule. Marcus would get up, eat whatever he could find, then go study a couple spells in the library for a short while, before attending a lecture or class from Tolfdir or sometimes another wizard. The magical theory concepts were very tricky for him to get a hold of, like a combination between thought exercises and complicated mathematics. The afternoons generally consisted of practical lessons, such as throwing firebolts and conjuring things. Marcus enjoyed the afternoon sessions, he had to admit.

Marcus didn't pay too much attention to the other new students, and from what he could gather, they were equally absorbed in their own study. If Marcus had to guess however, he'd say that it was Breylna who was furthest ahead out of all of them. That made sense, seeing as Dark elves were naturally rather skilled at magic, compared to nords or Khajit, or imperials. Marcus focused mainly on destruction magic, speaking to Faralda when he had the chance, as well as enchanting. He kept his armour in a chest in his room, and practiced the application of enchantments to it whenever he could. The College had plenty of materials and already-enchanted items Marcus could use to teach himself more, and he only had a few instances where he broke something or hurt himself.

It was an… unusual change of pace, as well. Opposed to the last few months where Marcus had basically been either in danger, or heading towards danger, a week of constant 'peace' was rather strange. Marcus didn't know whether he liked the change or not, which was a revelation that somewhat scared him. The idea of not being able to live in a state of inaction wasn't something he wanted to experience, but it wasn't as if he could 'retire'.

At the end of the week, Tolfdir told the group they'd be taking an excursion to Saarthal, the nordic ruin that they were excavating for a bit of hands-on experience. Marcus was glad for the opportunity to see a nordic ruin when it wasn't filled with undead monsters eager to slice him to pieces. The other members of their group had varying levels of enthusiasm.

They set out together, the four students and the one master alteration mage. J'zargo walked up next to Tolfdir, talking to him rapidly about spells and what potential power might be found in the ruin. Onmund walked on his own, behind the group. Marcus and Breylna sort of fell into line beside each other, of no conscious decision. The chilled, windy air had blown all their hoods back off their heads, so Marcus got his first proper look at Breylna.

She was surprisingly pretty, with deep purple skin the same colour as her robes, and long hair that reached her shoulders, curling slightly toward the end. Her eyes were a bright violet, with long eyelashes and angled slightly downward. After a while, Marcus felt like he should strike up some semblance of conversation, given that he hadn't really spoken to her over the last week, apart from simple requests, like the passing of a book.

He cleared his throat, and started quietly, "So… Have you -"

"Before you even ask," she said in an annoyed tone, "Yes, I do have an ancestry steeped in magic, no I don't want to talk about it. Yes, I know Winterhold used to be full of my kind, and no, I don't care that they're all gone. Does that cover everything?"

Marcus involuntarily moved half a step away from her, staring at her like he would to a venomous snake. "Uhh… I'm… I'm sorry... what?"

Breylna looked over at him, her annoyed expression changing to one that was tired and apologetic. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired of being asked the same questions. I'm here to learn, not explain myself over and over. Forgive me, I didn't mean to assume..."

"No," Marcus held his hands up and choosing a diplomatic set of words, "it's fine. I'm not too partial of people asking questions about myself, either."

"Why's that?" she asked.

Marcus went to reply, but stopped himself. Then he merely raised an eyebrow at her, smiling.

She started and kicked herself, "Oh, right, personal question, I'm sorry."

He smiled, "it's ok. I'll give you one fact about myself, if you give me one about you."

She smiled back at him, "Ok… I come from house Telvanni, as one of the first of my family to leave Morrowind in a long time."

"Right." Marcus said, nodding. That made sense, she said she had an ancestry steeped in magic. He had been told about House Telvanni's extensive magical knowledge and skill. Now, he had to think about something to tell her about himself.

The biggest, arguably most important thing he could tell her was that he was Dragonborn, but he didn't really want to bring that up. He wasn't sure what stories were circulating about him at the moment, or if he was well-known enough for news of himself to reach somewhere like Winterhold, but he would rather people judged him off his immediate actions, rather than anything else. That said, he could reveal a little bit of the truth.

"Well..." he began, "I'm from Chorral, and I came to Skyrim just in time to be there at Helgen when it was destroyed."

Breylna's eyes went wide, "Wow… you were at Helgen? Did you see the Dragon?"

Marcus chuckled quietly, "It was kinda hard not to… the thing was as large as a castle."

"Wow… A real Dragon… How did you survive and escape?" Breylna asked, "I thought most people died."

Marcus' mind was instantly filled with the screams of the people he heard burning as he ran through the town. He remembered the look on that father's face as he was burnt alive in front of his son. He remembered the guttural screams of guardsmen as they were crushed under falling masonry, the groan of agony as the limbs of young men and women were blasted apart by those burning rocks that the sky threw down at them.

As these memories raced through his mind, the look on Marcus' face fell, and turned sullen. Breylna gasped, and held a hand up to her mouth. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to bring up a traumatizing memory..."

Marcus sighed, shaking his head to clear the thoughts, and waving a hand near his head, "No… don't worry about it. It's just… I was lucky, that's all. I was lucky enough to get away from the horrors and danger before they caught up with me. That said, I was given front row seats to witness the deaths of all those who weren't lucky."

"Damn..." Breylna said slowly, "I'm sorry..."

"Not as sorry as me."

They fell into silence for a minute or so, each thinking about what was just said.

"Anyway," Marcus said eventually, attempting a much brighter tone "enough about such sordid topics. What do you think of this excursion?"

Breylna shrugged. "Well, I think it's better than standing around talking about magic?"

"Do you know anything about Saarthal, apart from what Tolfdir told us?"

She shook her head, "No, not really. Just that it's very, very old. It was one of the first cities of men in Tamriel, I think."

Marcus nodded, while staring at the ground as he walked, thinking. If it was that old, no wonder the College was interested in it. Whenever he did muster up enough courage to go delving into a ruin for search of a word of power or something else, which to be honest he didn't do very often, it seemed that the older the tomb, the more dangerous or important is was.

The group lapsed into silence once more, with even J'zargo no longer bothering Tolfdir. Marcus had a strange premonition that something was going to go very, very wrong, when they finally got to Saarthal.

* * *

Marcus really wished he'd start paying attention to his premonitions. He sat down on a set of stone stairs nursing a wound on his shoulder, next to the corpse of the almost-invincible draugr that he and Tolfdir had found in the central chamber of Saarthal. Tolfdir's magical expertise had proved invaluable throughout the series of tunnels and caverns in Saarthal. The old man had been tempted to stay behind and examine some of the initial rooms that they'd discovered after emerging from the secret tunnel, but thanks to the warning of the psijic monk that had appeared, it was clear Marcus would need the help to deal with whatever 'danger' ahead that Saarthal contained.

However, once they reached the centre of the room, with that gigantic swirling wall of blue-green energy, Marcus had to fend for himself for a while. The draugr guarding whatever was in that room was basically invincible. Magic had no effect on it, and Marcus didn't bring his sword or dagger in any event. He didn't think he'd need them…

Tolfdir used spells on the weird energy-swirling thing, while Marcus had to basically keep the draugr 'distracted'. This translated into Marcus having to dodge its attacks and spells for longer than his magicka levels could stay sustained. Eventually, just as the magical barrier in the centre of the room was dissipated, and thus so was the barrier around the draugr, Marcus caught a rather nasty ice spike in his upper shoulder, and since he had run out of magicka, he couldn't actually heal it.

Tolfdir ended up bringing down the draugr, and nursing Marcus back to health with his own magic. While his wounds were technically closed, there was still plenty of internal damage that would need to heal as restoration magic couldn't do everything, so Toldfir told Marcus to stay down, and rest while he examined the strange orb that had been behind the magical barrier.

Naturally, Marcus didn't listen, and stood up as soon as Tolfdir began walking away and followed him to the centre of the room, raking in sharp breaths as he limped behind the old man.

Tolfdir turned and frowned at him, "You're not going to listen to me?"

Marcus shook his head breathlessly, "Not on your life. I wanna see what the hell that thing is."

Tolfdir sighed, and they both walked up to the orb. It emitted a loud humming noise, and the whole area smelt like the air after a lightning storm.

"I'm not the only one seeing this, am I?" Tolfdir breathed, "why… it's utterly unique… Why was this buried so far beneath Saarthal?"

Marcus circled the strange object, and asked, "You've never seen anything like this before?"

Tolfdir shook his head vigorously, "No! I've no idea what this is! It's amazing, absolutely amazing. The arch mage needs to be informed of this at once! He needs see this for himself."

"Ok," Marcus nodded in agreement, "hopefully he'll know more. Who'll go inform him?"

Tolfdir looked at the orb with wide eyes. "I don't dare leave this unattended, could you return to the college and inform Savos Aren of this discovery? Once you're physically able, of course."

Marcus shrugged, "I'm physically able right now. I'll see you later."

With those words, Marcus walked, or limped rather, out of the room through a tunnel at the far side of the chamber. After opening the door at the far end, he was greeted by the sight of a large chest, and a very familiar wall in a cavern. He lowered himself into the cavern and searched the chest first, finding to his delight a large healing potion. Drinking it down, Marcus had much of his motor function restored, and quickly checked around himself to see if there was anyone else watching him. There wasn't, so he was free to proceed.

He walked up to the word wall, and ran a hand over the carved text. It had something to do with ice, but that was all he could tell at this stage. Marcus slowly approached the glowing section and gently brushed the bright blue text with his fingers. At once, his vision whited out, and his limbs were rushed with sensations. As the whiteness slowly cleared, two symbols were etched onto his vision. 'IIZ,' which he automatically knew translated to 'ice'.

"Phew," Marcus breathed. That sensation never got old. He then walked out through another passageway, until he came to a platform above the early excavation of the ruin. He jumped down, winced in pain, and had a look around. He saw Omnund talking to Breylna a little way away, and they both came running over when they saw him.

"Marcus!" Onmund cried, "we haven't seen you for over an hour since you went down that tunnel, what happened?"

Marcus spoke in an uncertain voice, "We found a… thing, some kind of magical orb, the size of a horse carriage. Tolfdir's keeping an eye on it. He asked me to get the information to the arch mage as soon as possible."

Breylna gasped, "Really? Gosh, it sounds important, was there any magical properti- Is that your blood?" She asked suddenly, pointing at the semi-dried crimson staining Marcus' robes.

"Oh, er…" Marcus scratched the back of his head, "Yeah, I guess it is." He took a few steps calmly back when Breylna advanced toward him with restoration magic in her hands, "Don't worry though, I found some healing potions, they're mostly healed."

"Mostly?" she raised a slightly concerned eyebrow.

"Yeah, at least 70 percent healed." Marcus threw weary a smile at her, and tried to look as healthy as possible. As soon as she looked somewhat convinced, he pushed past them both and continued upward.

"Gotta go," he said, "Tolfdir can answer any questions you might have later. I need to get back to the College."

And with those words, he was out of sight.

Once Marcus was out in the open air, he took a deep breath, expelling all the stale tomb air from his lungs. He hated the taste and feel of millennia-old air in his body. Saarthal was no exception. He began walking up the snowy landscape in the opposite direction to where he'd come earlier that day. Glancing up at the sky, Marcus noted how low the sun was. It'd be dark by the time he got back to Winterhold. Hopefully he wouldn't get too cold, but he could always use some fire magic to warm him up. He'd been getting good at fire spells recently.

As he walked, the swirling snow surrounding him, Marcus' thoughts drifted toward the orb. Whatever it was, it radiated raw energy. While it wasn't exactly the same, the only time Marcus had sensed that kind of raw energy was when a Dragon's corpse was burning right in front of him. Given what Marcus had only recently realized was the magnitude of a Dragon's soul, it was obvious that the orb could pose a large problem. Something that powerful, just sitting there in the hands of basically regular people like himself and the other mages… It just didn't sit right with him. Hopefully they'd all have the sense and caution to ensure nothing bad happens regarding it. Hopefully.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Sorry this chapter is late. The next one might take a little over a week too. I'm always unsure how to do the pacing of these major questlines. In any event, I won't be covering any of the actual dungeons until Labyrthian, which will probably be most of a chapter on its own.**

 **That said, once I complete the College of Winterhold questline, that'll mark the end to Marcus' 'amateur' stage. He'll become more powerful, know more spells, and start becoming the early version of a 'late game Dragonborn'. After this quest, I'll also focus more on special little follower quests I'm dreaming up. I think you'll all like what I have planned in Solitude :)**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	17. Chapter 17

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 17 – I've Got my Eye on You.

Marcus sat on one of the smaller stairs in the Hall of the Elements, his back against one of the support pillars, gazing at the orb. The other mages had taken to calling it the 'Eye of Magnus'. Marcus knew a little about Magnus, as much as anyone, that is. He was the God of magic, and was one of the Aedra responsible for creating Nirn. Thus, in calling this orb the 'eye' of a God, it became very clear that is was an artifact of immense power. Most likely magical power.

Marcus had no way of knowing if the Eye was actually connected to Magnus, but he couldn't help but admit it had a nice ring to it. The more experienced mages came by throughout the day to examine the orb, make appropriate 'hmm' noises while stroking their chins, and maybe say something to someone nearby about the markings or the hum it gave. Marcus sort of sat at the edge of the room, waiting for them to leave so he could continue practicing his new spell. He'd been exempt from classes for the last day, due to the injuries and burns he'd sustained at Fellglow Keep, but that didn't stop him from practicing.

The spell in particular was a lightning bolt, or close to it. He'd found the tome in Fellglow Keep, in the private room of the 'Caller'. Compared to most other spell tomes, this one was fairly simple. It appeared to be a lightning bolt with less emphasis on physical harm, and more emphasis on impact. It knocked the target backwards with a fair bit of force, while giving it a nasty burn. On the few times Marcus had been able to channel it properly, the target dummies could vouch for its effectiveness. He spoke to Faralda about the potential dangers of using the spell, since it came from a less than reputable source, but she said it would be fine. Odds are, the Caller hadn't created the spell tome, but had just found it somewhere and was studying it.

So Marcus was free to examine the spell, and since the Hall of the Elements wasn't used very much in the evenings, he usually had a few hours to practice his magical abilities in private. That was the usual however, and this evening it wasn't to be. As Marcus sat there at the edge, curling his hand and watching the sparks of electricity zap between his fingers, Brelyna walked up behind him, and leant against the adjacent pillar, watching him for a few moments.

She then walked up, and sat down next to him, her back also against the pillar. Marcus looked sideways at her, but didn't react adversely. Instead, they both looked at the Eye for a few moments. Eventually, Brelyna spoke quitely.

"I don't like it." she said.

Marcus sighed, extinguishing the sparks in his hand, and shuffling his legs up so he could wrap his arms around them. "Neither do I."

"I can't explain it either," Brelyna said plainly, her brow furrowing, "it hasn't caused any problems, it isn't doing anything bad, and it doesn't impede my own learning. All it does is sit there, humming away and raising questions."

"I know how you feel," Marcus said, "the problem I have with it, is that the questions it raises will probably end up getting answered."

"And you feel like those answers will lead to problems?"

Marcus nodded slowly. "It's not of mortal creation, that much I know. And things of that nature almost always cause issues."

Brelyna turned and frowned at him, "How do you know it's not of mortal creation?"

 _Because neither am I…_ Marcus thought quietly to himself. His own blood was directly linked to Aetherius, in a sense, so the little tingle he felt when he got close to the sphere was a good indication of other-worldly origin. He didn't say that though. Instead, he shrugged. "The markings. I had a look at them and compared them to the books in the library. They don't match any of the texts from mortal races."

Breylna nodded, "Hmm… I guess so."

They lapsed into silence for a few seconds, looking at the spinning orb. The other mages hadn't even managed to figure out how or why the thing spun like it did. They really didn't know much about it. Marcus found it kinda funny. Over the last week, the experienced mages had preened their own metaphorical feathers about their magical talents, and had made sure to let the new students know. Tolfdir had been the only one who hadn't really engaged in such egotistical behavior. Now that they had a real challenge, a real question that begged to be answered, these 'Masters of the arcane' were all left scratching their heads and pondering amongst themselves.

They were still irrefutably powerful magicians, Marcus knew, but it was all in practical, pre-ordained pathways. More powerful fireballs, longer-lasting atronachs, stronger enchantments, and so forth. He found it interesting how their grasp of the unknown was so limited.

Still, he was just a student. It wasn't his place to wonder the ins and outs of the universe. That said, the business regarding the Psijic order was quite the conundrum, to say the least. Some of their words sounded awfully similar to that of the Greybeards, with the cryptic 'you have the potential' terminology. That couldn't be good.

Desiring to change the subject, Marcus said, "Do you have any family in Skyrim? You said most of it was in Morrowind, but do you have anyone at all in this province?"

Brelyna shook her head, her dark hair shaking around her ears. "No. I'm basically on my own. It's probably for the best."

"Why's that?"

She sighed, not answering immediately, as if she was carefully picking her words. "There's an… awful lot of pressure on members of the Telvanni mages, from both ourselves, and from outsiders. It was… exhausting, to be honest. Almost suffocating. Do you know what it's like, being trapped in a cycle of judgment and pressure, where your every action is weighed against an unseen standard?"

Marcus thought for a moment, "No… not really. I guess I feel something similar, but not like that."

"It is… It was… very hard." She looked at the ground, somewhat downcast. Brelyna hummed to herself, rubbing her pointy chin and staring at the ground. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this. Why did you ask?"

Marcus shrugged, "I don't really know… I guess I'm just interested in what the Telvanni wizards are like. Most people don't really know anything about them, and I'm no exception. I'm sorry."

She waved a hand at him, disregarding his apology, "it's ok. I don't mind I guess. It's sort of good to talk to someone else about it, in a sense… What is your family like?"

"Huh?" Marcus jolted visibly, his head almost hitting the stone behind him. His head twisted sideways to look at Brelyna, worry and confusion on his face.

"Your family," she said again, looking at him and wondering why he'd tensed up all of a sudden, "what are they like? What did they think when they heard you were studying magic?"

Marcus averted his gaze to the ground next to him, away from the girl. His mind raced with dozens of memories, all of which were buried and none of which were pleasant. It wasn't a subject he wanted to talk about, ever. He immediately thought up a dozen excuses to end the conversation and leave, but felt that after Brelyna's confession about her own family, it would be very impolite and upsetting to just get up and leave.

Seeing the rapid set of emotions flicking across Marcus' face, the dark elf girl gasped, and realized that she'd uncovered some very painful memories.

"I'm so sorry," she said quickly, reaching out to grasp his shoulder in a comforting way, "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories..."

Marcus glanced down at his hands and turned away slightly, with Brelyna still looking at him and worrying if she'd really upset the man. She made movements to move closer and comfort him further, but stopped herself, fearing she might make the situation worse.

It had been a while since he'd thought about them, or what happened to them. It had been even longer since he'd even thought about how they'd think of him right now. What would his parents say if they found out he was supposed to save the world? What would his parents say if they knew how many people he'd killed in the last month alone?

Marcus breathed out a sigh. A defeated sigh. It was such a long time ago, all of it, but it still seemed so recent. "I don't have any family left… anywhere. I miss them."

Brelyna's hands went to her mouth, covering the shocked 'O' shape it was making. "I'm… I'm so sorry."

Marcus sighed again, "Don't be, it's not your fault."

Then he stood up, passing her and walking out of the hall of the elements. Brelyna wanted to follow, to apologize, to make it up to him for bringing a cascade of painful memories to the front of his mind, but she didn't know what to say.

Marcus kept his gaze glued to the floor as he walked out. He knew exactly who's fault it was.

* * *

It was a day later, Marcus was heading to the Hall of the Elements again, this time early in the morning. He was doing a bit of experimenting, seeing what times he could practice alone, without people watching him. Tolfdir had said that it was always best to practice magic with someone present, in order to ensure any injuries could be taken care of, but Marcus wasn't really able to concentrate his magic very well if he knew such people were watching him. Again, part of him cringed at his own self-consciousness, given the fact that he was supposed to be some kind of world-saving hero, but at this point the 'amateur student Marcus' was more prevalent than the 'Dragonborn Marcus'.

As Marcus entered the hall, he saw Tolfdir standing near the Eye, gazing up at it and stroking his chin thoughtfully. The old man looked up as Marcus entered.

"Ah, Marcus. Did that trip to Fellglow keep give Urag have any information on our discovery?"

Marcus nodded, "Yeah, he mentioned a certain book, 'Night of Tears'."

Tolfdir frowned, "I'll have to make a point of re-reading it. I don't quite recall the details." He gestured to the Eye. "I just can't seem to tear myself away… If you'll indulge me, I'd like to make a few observations."

Marcus made a 'by all means' gesture, and the two began walking around the orb.

"I'm sure you've already noticed the markings, they're quite unlike anything we've ever seen before. Ayleid, Dwemer, Daedric, not even Falmer. None of them match. Quite curious indeed."

Marcus nodded, "It doesn't match Dovahzul either, I checked."

"Dovahzul?" Tolfdir frowned, "How do you know Dovahzul?"

Marcus blinked, "Uh… I compared it to a book I found?"

Tolfdir's frown deepened, but he didn't enquire further. He continued, "Now, I'm not sure if you're as attuned as I am, given my extensive years of experience, but can you feel that?" Tolfdir stretched his hands out to the orb, as if he was warming them near a fire. "This marvelous object, it practically radiates magicka, and yet it's unlike anything I've ever felt before."

"What do you think is inside it?" Marcus asked.

"I really don't know," Tolfdir admitted, "but arch-mage Aren is already hard at work, so hopefully we'll have answers soon. Now I -"

"I'm afraid I must intrude," Ancano said from behind the two of them.

Marcus jumped, he hadn't heard nor seen the elf walk up behind him. He turned to see the yellow, angular face of the Thalmor envoy sent to the College. His features were twisted into almost a permanent look of distaste. Ever since Marcus first saw him, he hadn't liked him. There was just something… off… about the guy. His insistent questioning about the Eye when Marcus first reported back from Saarthal was indicative of less than perfect motives, as well. Still, Marcus knew better than to mistreat someone purely off instinct, so he retained a plain, somewhat cold, polite demeanor when dealing with the elf, if not friendly.

"It is urgent that I speak with your associate immediately," Ancano continued, gesturing to Marcus.

Tolfdir bristled, "This is most inappropriate! We are involved in serious research here!"

Marcus felt inclined to agree, not because of the worth of Tolfdir's discussion, but because he simply didn't want to have to interact with the elf. Whatever he wanted, Marcus didn't want to give it to him.

"I have no doubt of its gravity," sighed Ancano, "but this, however, is a matter that cannot wait."

He gestured to Marcus. "Come with me."

Marcus shrugged, not seeing any way to disagree with him, and followed.

Once they were out of the hall, Marcus asked Ancano, "What's going on?"

Ancano turned, and fixed Marcus with a venomous stare. "I'd like to know why there's someone claiming to be from the Psijic order here in the college. More importantly, I'd like to know why they're asking for **you** specifically."

"Oh..." Marcus eyes went wide with dawning realization, remembering the encounter in Saarthal.

"So we're going to go have a chat with him, and find out exactly what he wants."

"Ok..." Marcus said, nodding slowly and looking at the ground. Just as Ancano was about to walk through the door leading to the stairs to the arch-mage's quarters, Marcus held up a hand.

"Hang on," he said, "why is any of this your concern?"

Ancano fixed Marcus with another glare, and replied in a derisive tone, "All you need to know is that the Psijic order is a rogue organization, considering themselves above the law."

"Ahh," Marcus nodded in exaggerated understanding, "of course. Being above the law is a position the Thalmor reserve for themselves, understood."

Ancano's expression soured, but he didn't say anything further. They walked up through the stairs, and just before entering the quarters of the Arch-mage, he turned and spoke to Marcus once more.

"Now, you are going to go and speak to this… monk, and find out why he is here. Then, he shall be removed from the College grounds."

Marcus replied, "We'll see."

They walked into the room, and approached the Psijic monk. He wore the same yellow robes that the other one wore in Saarthal. Marcus walked up to him, and took a breath to say something.

In an instant, the world turned a strange white colour, and particles froze in the air. Behind Marcus, both the Arch-mage and Ancano were frozen, mid-stride, not moving.

"Do not be alarmed, please," the monk said, "I mean you no harm."

"What happened," Marcus said, whirling around and looking at everyone in the room. "Why are they all frozen?"

"I'd simply like to talk to you," he said, "I am Quaranir, and I've given us a brief moment to speak privately, but I'm afraid I can't do this for long."

"Why?"

Quaranir took a breath, "The situation here at your college is of dire importance, and attempts to contact you as we have previously have failed, hence my arrival in person. We believe this interference is due to the very source of our concern."

"The Eye of Magnus..." Marcus said, understanding what the monk was getting at.

"Yes," he nodded, "this object, the… 'Eye' is immensely powerful, emitting energy that has stopped us from reaching you in visions. The longer it remains here, the more dangerous the situation becomes, so I have travelled personally to tell you it must be dealt with."

Marcus frowned, "Why me?" He couldn't understand why these problems were just always heaped onto him. "What makes me so qualified to deal with this situation? If it's such a damn problem, why don't you deal with it yourself?!"

Quaranir held his hands up defensively, "I'm afraid it's not that simple. You must understand, the Psijic order doesn't typically… intervene directly, in such events. My presence here alone will be seen as an affront to some in my order."

"What?!" Marcus cried incredulously, "you just said that the bloody thing is multiplying the danger every minute it stays here! How can you sit back and not do something about that, while you can?"

"I am sorry," Quaranir said, "but that cannot happen. I'm all too aware that my presence has aroused suspicion, especially in your Thalmor associate, Ancano. My order will not act directly, you must take it upon yourself to act."

"Ismir… you'd think I already had enough on my plate..." Marcus sighed, "So what is the problem, exactly?"

Quaranir said, "The Eye, is far too powerful. The world is not ready for it. If it stays here, it will be misused. Indeed, many in the order feel that something has already happened… rather, something with happen soon, that cannot be avoided."

"I suppose you can't tell me what that something is?" Marcus asked. He got another apologetic look from the monk as a response. Marcus' sighed tiredly, "can you at least tell me what I'm supposed to do?"

"We believe that your efforts should be turned to dealing with the aftermath, but we… we don't actually know what that might be. I've already overstepped the boundaries of my order, but I will offer this: Seek out the Augur of Dunlain. His perception may be more coherent than ours."

"Let's hope that's not the only thing that's more coherent..." muttered Marcus.

Quaranir ignored that last comment, and continued, "he is somewhere within the college, but other than that we are unsure. One of your colleagues will know the location, surely."

"Ok..." Marcus nodded slowly. Eyes wide and blinking with exhaustion and an overload of information.

"Now I'm afraid I must leave you. We will continue to watch over you, and guide you as best you can."

"But why me?" Marcus said wearily, "Why must I save everyone from this danger?"

Quaranir looked at Marcus with a solemn expression. "I think you know why… It's within you, and you only, to succeed no matter the danger. Never forget that."

Marcus sighed deeply, just as the world returned to normalcy.

Quaranir then feigned confusion, and misunderstanding, stating how he shouldn't be here, and that he should leave instantly. Ancano got rather indignated, demanding all sorts of answers, but Quaranir was very good at imitating confusion and innocent stupidity. It would've been funny to watch, if Marcus wasn't still reeling internally from the monk's words.

Still, if Quaranir's words had any merit, Marcus knew he had no time to sort himself out mentally, he needed to find this 'Augur'. Marcus headed down to the open air, and walked over to one of the benches near the edge of the College, overlooking the wintery ocean. He sat there, and thought for a moment.

He'd been to basically every part of this college, in all the rooms, to all the various sections. He'd never seen, nor heard of something called 'Augur of Dunlain.' Marcus was lost in thought when he heard steps approaching, and looked away from the snowy spectacle to see Mirabelle walking over to him.

"Marcus," she said, "What did that monk say to you?"

"He didn't say anything," Marcus replied, "As soon as I got there, he basically left."

Mirabelle fixed him with a look. The look of a mother when she knows one of her children are lying. Marcus couldn't keep eye contact with the woman for long, and he practically wilted under the uncompromising stare.

"I find it hard to believe," Mirabelle began with a look of mock curiosity, "that a member of the Psijic order leaves their home for the first time in centuries, travels many leagues just to speak to you, and then decides to pack up and go back as soon as he gets the chance. Do you find that hard to believe, Marcus?"

The look on Mirabelle's face indicated that she knew something was up. Marcus' own body language was very compromising as well. He just couldn't lie properly to her. She reminded him too much of his own mother. When she fixed him with that look, and spoke with that tone, instead of being a 21 year old man with an important secret to hide, he was a 9 year old boy who'd been caught eating sweetrolls before dinner.

Marcus thought for a moment, thinking about what to say and what not to say. The monk had spoken to him alone, most likely intending to keep their conversation secret, but Mirabelle wasn't Ancano, so he could probably tell her a little.

"He told me that the Eye is dangerous, and that I should seek out the Augur of Dunlain to find out more."

"The Augur of Dunlain?" Mirabelle frowned, "that's an… odd topic, but… I suppose if you need answers, that's where you'd look."

"Do you know where it is?" Marcus asked, hopeful.

"No..." Mirabelle shook her head, "but I think Tolfdir might. He was friends, at one point."

"Friends? I don't understand… what is it that I'm looking for?"

Mirabelle sighed, taking a few steps away and looking toward the glowing pool in the centre of the College. "He… Dunlain was a student, but he did something wrong, and now he isn't..."

Marcus frowned, "that's… vague. Can you explain more?"

"… Ask Tolfdir," Mirabelle said, after much hesitation. Clearly, it wasn't a topic she enjoyed talking about. After saying those words, she hurried off, eager to be elsewhere. Marcus was left alone, wondering what he will end up finding. He was also rather annoyed at how cryptic and unhelpful everyone was being. They all clearly meant well, but it wasn't particularly easy to solve a problem when no-one gave him enough information.

Still, they'd given him some information, so Marcus wandered off to find Tolfdir.

After 10 minutes of searching, he found him in the library, or the Arcaneum, rather. The old man was reading a book on magical armours, probably re-reading it, to be honest. He didn't look like it, but the old man was extremely skilled at alteration magic, so it wouldn't surprise Marcus if he had read every related book in the College at least once.

"Marcus," Tolfdir said, looking up from the book, "Did you sort out whatever Ancano wanted?"

Marcus smiled, "I did, though not in a way that pleased the Elf."

"Good," Tolfdir said, nodding to himself, "I'm glad to hear that. Now, what can I do to help you?"

"Can you help me find the Augur of Dunlain?"

Tolfdir started slightly, eyes widening a fraction and his eyebrows raising in mild surprise. "Well now, there's a name I haven't heard in some time." He scratched the back of his head, "My goodness, it's been years since I've spoken with him, but I suppose he's still down in the Midden. Are you going to see him? Do say hello for me, won't you?"

"I will," Marcus nodded, "Can you tell me what he, or it, is?"

Tolfdir stroked his beard, "Well, I suppose he wouldn't mind… It was all a bit before my time, you see. He was a brilliant student, and delved into magic in a way none had seen before. But… he became a bit too focused on how much power he could acquire. That led to the 'accident', and now he's somewhat… 'fused' with the magics around the College."

"Wow," Marcus muttered, taken somewhat aback. It sounded like the Augur wan't exactly human anymore.

"Do be careful when you go down into the Midden," Tolfdir added, "it isn't the nicest place. Be sure to take someone with you."

Marcus nodded, and walked out, trying to figure out who might be willing to go down into a dangerous place with him. Brelyna was probably the best option, seeing as he'd conversed with her more than any of the other newer students. Still, that wasn't much to indicate she'd be willing to delve into a dangerous, abandoned section of the College, but Marcus figured he might be able to persuade her.

Marcus made his way into the Hall of Attainment, looking for the young dark elf. He found her in the first place he looked, that is, in her room. She was sitting at her desk, focusing hard on reading a book. She looked up as Marcus entered her doorway.

"Marcus," she said brightly, "how are you?"

Marcus chuckled, "I've been better, I'll admit."

Brelyna smiled, and looked down at her book again, thinking about something. Marcus took a step into her room as she looked up again.

"I'd like to ask you a favour," she said, "if that's ok?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," Marcus said.

"Well," Brelyna shrugged, "let us help each other, in that case. Give me a hand with my task, and I'll give you a hand with yours."

Marcus frowned, and smiled nervously, "I think the task I'm going to ask you will probably be a bit more demanding than what you can ask of me."

"I doubt that." Brelyna said quietly, "mine has more risks involved."

"Wanna bet?" Marcus said, grinning at her. She shook her head shyly.

Marcus walked over and sat in a chair near her, and rubbed his hands together, "Well, better get it over with. What did you need my help regarding?"

"Well..." Brelyna began, "We're all trying to become better mages, right? I was wondering if you could help me practice a few new spells I'm working on. Nothing dangerous, I promise you."

"Hmmm..." Marcus raised an eyebrow at the girl, "being a test subject does sound risky, but I guess there can't be too much harm, right?"

"Er… of course!" Brelyna nodded rapidly, smiling unconvincingly at Marcus.

 _Oh dear…_ Marcus thought, _I'm going to regret this._

5 minutes later, Marcus was regretting it. He was also green.

"Please tell me this isn't permanent..." Marcus said, staring at his green hands. They were shaking with shock and fear.

"It isn't!" cried Brelyna, "I promise! It's just… a minor miscalculation. I'm sure it'll wear off soon?"

"What if you're wrong about that too?" Marcus choked, worry growing more and more evident on his face."

"Just… trust me, please." Brelyna looked almost as frantic as Marcus, clearly worried about the repercussions of turning a fellow student green, and worried that Marcus wouldn't forgive her.

Marcus forced himself to take several deep breaths, closing his eyes. He said, "I'm going to sit down for a while..."

"That's… probably for the best."

Marcus sat down in a spare chair, and stared at his green hands and arms for a while. Brelyna started furiously re-reading the related spell-tome.

An hour later, the spell wore off. Marcus had made multiple trips to the water fountain for a drink, due to the fact he was sweating profusely.

"See," Brelyna exclaimed when she saw him, "it wore off! Just like I said it would."

"Uh… I guess so..." Marcus looked rather emotionally drained after that panic-stricken episode.

"Now, are you ready to try again? I'm confident it will work this time."

"Um…" Marcus was unsure, but figured it was impossible to screw up that badly twice, right?

He nodded, "Ok, let's get this over with."

"Ok, thank you." Brelyna said earnestly, "Now don't move."

Marcus took a deep breath, and braced himself. Brelyna charged up a spell in her hand, purple magic swirling about. She splayed her hand at Marcus, and his entire form shifted.

Marcus got turned into a cow.

"Oh my God!" she cried, hands instantly flying to clutch her face in stricken surprise "that… really isn't right!"

Marcus mooed at her.

"Just wait!" Breylna said, holding her hands out to try and placate the cow. "I can fix this."

She fired the spell again, and the same purple magic swarmed over Marcus The Cow, and turned him into Marcus The Horse.

"Oh no..." she muttered to herself desperately, shaking her head, "that's not it at all..."

Marcus neighed, and clopped at the ground. The purple magic swirled once more, and Marcus got turned into a dog.

"Oh my..." Brelyna said, shaking her head, "this really, really isn't turning out the way I hoped…"

Opposite, Onmund walked out of his room to see Brelyna frantically flicking through a book and trying to placate a stressed dog, muttering about the spell not working, and promising to the dog to make it all right again.

Onmund took in the situation, giving it a few seconds to register in his brain.

He said, "Nope," and immedietely turned away, walking back into his room.

Brelyna patted the dog on the head, and said frantically, "I'll get it right this time, I swear!"

Marcus The Dog barked at her. One last time, the purple magic engulfed Marcus, and transformed him back into himself. Instantly, he screamed loudly and staggered backwards, grasping madly at the walls and his gaze darting all around. He looked down at his body and patted himself down, checking he had all his bits and pieces. He then shifted his eyes up to Brelyna, his fiery iris' wide with fear.

Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Marcus passed out, falling to the stone floor. Brelyna was only just able to catch him before he fell.

Another hour later, Marcus was sitting in his bed sipping at a cup of water. Brelyna was sitting next to the bed, looking shamefaced and rubbing her hands guiltily. Neither was saying anything just yet. Neither wanted to admit the situation that had just happened. When Marcus finished his water, he sat upright in the bed, and looked over at her. She flashed him a somewhat reassuring smile.

"It all worked out in the end, didn't it?" She said in a hopeful tone.

Marcus didn't say anything, looking her in the eyes with his face entirely blank.

"I mean," Brelyna said nervously, "I know what type of spell not to use, and you're still a full human, so it's all right."

Marcus kept looking at her, and took a deep breath.

"You..." he began slowly, each word measured, "need to promise me… to never… ever… talk about this again."

Brelyna nodded quickly, "Agreed."

Marcus sighed, and laid back in his bed. "You were right though, your favour was much more risky than what I had in mind."

She chuckled quietly. "Come find me when you're ready. I definitely owe you for this."

Marcus just nodded wearily, refilling his cup of water with a jug from beside his bed as Brelyna walked out of the room.

* * *

Marcus and Brelyna stepped off the ladder leading into the Midden. The area seemed to be carved out of the rocky ice below the College. It was cold, which was more of a problem for the dark elf, as Marcus had changed back into his armour while she was still just in basic robes.

He'd put a few basic enchantments on his armour, with a lot of help from Sergius, of course. That said, there wasn't really much need. The only thing down there in the Midden was a few weak draugr, and some (relatively) small frostbite spiders, which were no match for two competent fighters.

After a short while, the pair came to a small ice walkway over a large ravine. As they were crossing it, a rasping voice rang out.

"There is no help for you here," it said.

"Woah," Brelyna stopped, "you hear that?"

"Yeah..." muttered Marcus, looking all around but not seeing any source of the noise. "I guess we keep going. I'm not going to turn back without the answers I need, in any event."

"Agreed." she nodded.

They continued along for a short while longer, before the voice rang out again. "There is no solace in knowing what is to come."

"There it is again," Brelyna said. "You think that's the Augur of Dunlain?"

Marcus shrugged, "Maybe..."

They walked on, until they came to a single tunnel with a door at the end. Marcus walked up to it, and tried to open it. The door wouldn't budge.

The voice spoke again. "Your perseverance will only lead you to disappointment."

"I don't care." Marcus muttered, trying the door again, harder this time. It still wouldn't budge.

Marcus backed up, and kicked at the door, trying to break it down. It didn't even creak.

"Still you persist?" the voice said, "Very well, you may enter."

The door opened on its own, revealing a small room inside, with a large stone circle in the middle. Inside the circle was a large blue flame. As the pair walked into the room, a great blue swirling light filled the space above the flame. It filled the entire room with a sky-blue glow, shining brightly.

"You're the Augur of Dunlain?" Marcus said, eyes wide.

"I am that… which you have been seeking," it replied in a rasping voice. "Your efforts are in vain. It has already begun. Those who sent you have not told you of what they seek, what you seek."

Marcus tilted his head to the side, "And what is it that I'm seeking?"

The Augur replied, "You seek that which all who wield magic seek. Knowledge. All you will find, is the knowledge, that knowledge corrupts. It will destroy. It will consume. The Thalmor came seeking answers as well, unaware they will be his undoing. Your path now follows his, though you will arrive too late. Much to your own upset."

"Wait," Marcus frowned, "Answer me properly. I'm not the first to come see you?"

"No..." The Augur would've shaken its head, if it had one, "Though you may be the last. The one who calls himself Ancano has sought my knowledge as well, through very different questions."

"Bastard..." Brelyna muttered to herself.

The Augur spoke once more, "Your path differs from most, Wyrm-blood. You are being guided, pushed towards something, or many somethings… It is a good path, one untravelled by many. It is a path that can save your College, and later on, much more. It however, will have consequences."

"What is he talking about?" Brelyna asked. Marcus didn't answer.

"Tell me what I need to know, please." Marcus said.

The Augur said, "You, and those aiding you wish to know more about the Eye of Magnus. You in particular wish to avoid the disaster of which you are not yet aware. To see through Magnus' Eye without being blinded, you require his staff."

"The staff of Magnus..." Marcus muttered. It sounded familiar, somehow. He might've heard of it in a book, somewhere.

"Events now sprial quickly towards the inevitable center, so act with haste. Take this knowledge to your Arch-Mage."

With those parting words, the Augur of Dunlain dissipated.

"Wait!" Marcus shouted, "What disaster is going to happen?"

There was no reply. The Augur was gone, not willing to answer anymore questions.

"Well..." Brelyna said quietly, "at least we have one more piece of information than we did before."

"I wish we had more though," Marcus said bitterly. If disaster was inevitable, what was the harm in telling them about it?

The two began walking back the way they came. Cold water dripped down from the icy ceiling in some places, so they made haste.

"What did the Augur say about you?" Brelyna asked as they walked, "What did it mean by 'Wyrm-blood'?"

"Um..." Marcus scratched his cheek, "I… I'll tell you later. Let's sort out one thing at a time."

She raised an eyebrow at him, certain he was hiding something from her, but deciding that now wasn't the time to pry.

They made it back up through the trapdoor in the Hall of Countenance, and walked across the room to the exit door. Just before they walked out into the open air, Marcus stopped suddenly. He felt… something. A tiny piece of himself deep inside stirred and switched itself on.

"What's wrong Marcus?" Brelyna asked, looking back at him with a concerned expression.

"I don't know," he said, frowning, "let's keep going."

They both stepped out into the open air, and were greeted with a loud roar from the heavens. Outside, several of the more experienced mages were running about, trying to usher the younger students indoors. People looked to the sky fearfully. Marcus instantly knew what was going on.

He looked up at the snow-filled clouds seeing the outline of a large, dark figure flying through them and said, in a tired voice, "this has been the worst fucking day..."

With another roar, the Dragon flew down out of the clouds and began circling the College, in full view of everyone. There were assorted screams from various members, and some of the teachers tried to calm down the students and get them back inside, while others activated wards and magical armours.

Brelyna instinctively grabbed onto Marcus' arm in fear, but he gently pried her off. He then turned and looked her in the eyes. "Get inside with the others, and try to stay away from the windows."

"What?!" she cried, confusion in her eyes. The Dragon roared again, swooping a bit lower and rolling its gaze back and forth across the College grounds.

Marcus sighed, and drew both his sword and dagger. "Looks like you'll be getting your answer, Brelyna."

Then he took a deep breath, at the same time as the Dragon, each ready to unleash their Thu'um.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone for leaving such nice reviews on these last few chapters. It really makes me happy to know I can make other people happy through writing. It really does make my day. Hell, it makes my entire week. Secondly, I'd like to apologize for any late chapters. I've been working a fair bit recently. Still, I'll have plenty of money to spend on all my various copies of Skyrim on various platforms.** **I'm personally waiting for the day that Bethesda releases a version of Skyrim I can play on my microwave.**

 **I'll probably do 2 more chapters on the College. The next one will cover Labyrinthian. I'm speeding through this arc a little faster than the companions, mainly because I don't want to cover any of the meaningless stuff. I'm also eager to get to some newer adventures. I'm basically dreaming up a unique quest similar to the Illia one for most of the followers in the game.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Notes: Right, so I've discovered a pretty major issue with my chapters, aside from them being too late all the time. In instances where I cover a significant time lapse mid-chapter (usually of several hours or more) I entered three asterisks and moved onto a new line. This helped indicate the time gap and break up the monotony of the chapters. I recently went back onto one of my older chapters to read through it (just for fun) and I found out that this wasn't being translated into the final upload. Instead, it basically just was one line lower, with no discernible difference to any of the other paragraph spaces. This is rather sloppy on my part, and really doesn't capture the breaking up of the chapter as I wanted. For some reason, this website simply doesn't include asterisks or double spaces.**

 **This is a rather large issue, so I've gone back and replaced all these instances where I would normally do the triple asterisks, and used one of the horizontal lines, like what's usually below/above my little 'author notes' thingies. It's not perfect, but it'll do.**

 **I'm really, really embarrassed that I let this go unknown for so long. I don't want to even think about how unprofessional this mistake has made me look, to both you regulars and all the newcomers, so I want to apologize to you all for making it. It won't happen again, and I hope you all can forgive me.**

 **On a lighter note – Woohoo! Dragon fight next up! I always enjoy writing these.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 18 – For My Next Trick...

Marcus took a quick deep breath, and sprinted out into the center of the College. The Dragon continued to circle the area, looking down from just below the clouds. As he ran out near the statue, he sheathed his dagger, and instead channeled magic into the spare hand. Unless the Dragon got close, a blade wasn't of much use.

The Dragon itself was a white-blue colour, with plenty of spiky horns adorning its body, head, and neck. It was also thinner than the other dragons Marcus had seen, but was also slightly longer. He'd never seen a dragon that colour before. The ones he had seen before were mainly green and brown. Plus there was that golden dragon that had nearly killed him at Karthspire. White was new.

As Marcus stared up at the beast, it too looked down and stared at him. It's lips shifted, as though to form a vindictive grin. Marcus didn't look away, he just kept looking into its eyes, challenging it silently. In response, the Dragon opened its maw and unleashed a roar so loud it almost shook the sky.

He needed to handle this perfectly. Every time a Dragon attacked a populated area, the casualties were high. Every time. Karthspire, the Watchtower, Kynesgrove. Marcus couldn't let what happened at those places happen here. These people didn't deserve that.

Marcus was still watching the Dragon circling, when Mirabelle ran up to him and grabbed his arm.

"Marcus!" she shouted, "get inside one of the buildings this instant!"

Marcus went to reply, but the Dragon interrupted his train of thought with another loud roar, followed by a swooping strafe across the College. It got down low, being no more than 15 meters above the ground, and opened its mouth, ready to exhale.

Marcus was expecting a blaze of fire to coming spewing from its mouth, but he was wrong. Instead of fire, a huge amount of ice and frost came belching out, covering the ground in shards of ice and freezing air. The attack was telegraphed however, so most of everyone got out of the way, except Arniel Gane. He was caught in the line of frost the Dragon blanketed the ground with, and was too late to bring up a ward. As Tolfdir said, they needed a moment to charge up.

Multiple finger-sized shards of ice embedded themselves into Gane's stomach, and with a cry, he toppled down. In an instant, Marcus sprinted over to Arniel, with Mirabelle right behind him. They both crouched beside the man, Mirabelle healing him slightly, with Marcus looking up to check that the Dragon wasn't about to strafe them again. The Dragon had ascended, and was continuing to circle.

"Give me a hand, Marcus," Mirabelle breathed frantically, grabbing hold of Arniel's legs.

Marcus nodded, and grabbed a hold of his hands. The two then dragged the man out of the open, through the door into the entrance to the Hall of the Elements. Most of the other mages were gathered a way back, further inside, peering out at the white sky with worried and scared faces.

Mirabelle checked Arniel, and breathed out relief when she knew he was still breathing.

Marcus checked outside quickly, seeing the Dragon still circling. They tended to take their time when attacking places like this. They never suspected resistance of any strong sort.

Marcus looked back at Mirabelle and spoke rapidly, "Get Savos, Faralda and yourself out there with Colette and Tolfdir. Get into a group and hit it with as many destruction spells as you can. Get Tolfdir and Colette to shield you with wards. Their breath is deadly but can be blocked. If I'm right, it'll probably focus on me, so I'll stay out in the open."

"What?!" cried Mirabelle, grabbing onto Marcus' shoulders and looking him in the eyes "are you insane? You'll be doing nothing of the sort, you hear me?!"

Marcus sighed with a tired smile on his face, and looked back into Mirabelle's worried, motherly eyes. "I know this'll all sound a bit crazy," he said apologetically, his hands gesticulating to place emphasis on certain words. "but I **really** need you to trust me. I need to make sure as many of us survive this as possible."

"But..."

"Please!" Marcus interrupted, "Just trust me..."

With those words, Marcus pried her hands off his shoulders, and sprinted outside. Mirabelle watched him go, face contorted with concern and worry. After another second, she ran off to detail his plan to everyone else.

Marcus ran outside, his head scanning the sky in search of the Dragon. He saw a dark outline higher up in the clouds shaped like a bird, so figured that must be it. He stopped running when he was right next to the blue pool near the statue. A roar resonated throughout the area, and the Dragon slowly began to drift below the clouds. It was a terrifying sight. Unlike the Elder Dragon, which was somewhat majestic, this Dragon was spiked, angular, and horrific.

It stared down at Marcus, and he felt almost naked under its gaze. Its eyes pierced through him, leaving him feeling awfully exposed. He swallowed his nervous tension, and drew his sword, the metallic noise bringing comfort. Behind him, Mirabelle and the other mages filed outside, in a tight group, their movements skittish and nervous. The white glow of restoration magic swelled in the hands of Tolfdir and Colette. The latter's hands were shaking.

The Dragon swiveled its head to see them, and snarled. It tucked its wings in close, and descended to crush the mortals who had arisen to its challenge.

* * *

Brelyna slammed her body against the wall, panting heavily. Her hair was all messy with fear, strands hanging in her face. Her eyes were wide with terror, and her hands shook. It was a trial to even keep standing. She'd heard of what Dragons were capable. She knew from Marcus what one had achieved in Helgen. She wanted nothing more than to hide under a bed and not come out until everything had disappeared, until everything was all sorted out and she could go back to her peaceful education.

But the reality was, that the same terrifying destructive potential of the Dragon that made her want to hide, meant that she couldn't. Marcus was out there, her friend, along with goodness knows how many others. Brelyna couldn't let them die. She knew that she couldn't do much, as her non-lethal magic was better than her destruction magic, but she had to do something. She just didn't know what.

* * *

Marcus spent the next 10 minutes dodging and skirting around the statue as the Dragon attempted to blast him to pieces with a hailstorm of ice and frost. The beast was very powerful, but had difficulty maneuvering when it dropped below the outer ring of the College, due to its size. As such, it's attacks were telegraphed and Marcus could dodge them to greater or minor extents. Still, he knew he couldn't keep doing this.

He expended everything he had, using wards, healing potions, and at one point diving into the blue pool in order to escape an icy whirlwind. His magicka was running awfully low, and his armour had little shards of ice embedded in the leather and metal. His attempts at a distraction were paying off to an extent, with the 5 mages dealing plenty of damage to the Dragon with their powerful destruction spells. Orbs of fire and bolts of lightning slammed into the underbelly of the Dragon whenever it got close enough for Mirabelle, Savos and Faralda to hit it. Whenever the Dragon decided to attack them, both Tolfdir and Colette got into position with ward spells, blocking the blasts of frost. But it was just so slow going, as the Dragon didn't seem to be faltering very much. Marcus realized he needed a new plan, quickly.

Fumbling at one of the pouches on his belt, Marcus pulled out his last magicka potion and gulped it down. He leaned out from behind the statue, and saw the Dragon gaining altitude, before it shifted its wings closer to its body, and began a dive, probably aiming to grab him up in its clawed feet and crush him, or try a whirlwind frost attack. Faralda and Mirabelle both unleashes loud lightning bolts at the wings of the Dragon, earning a pained growl, but not slowing it. Marcus jumped out from behind cover, and fixed his eyes on the approaching Dragon. Channelling magic into his hands, he prepared his new shock spell.

* * *

Brelyna burst into Faralda's room, searching around for something to help her fight the Dragon. He eyes landed upon a staff hanging up on the wall just above the bed. Hoping that Faralda would understand under the circumstances, Brelyna clambered up onto the bed, and grabbed the staff, pulling it off the wall. If Faralda had decided to put it on display, it must be very powerful indeed, and would certainly supplement her destruction magic capabilities. She was just about to crawl off the bed when a terrible cracking noise shook the world, and the entire back wall exploded outward.

* * *

The Dragon swooped downward, and unleashed a swirling whirlwind of frost at Marcus as it flew over. Marcus dived to the side, scrabbling at the ground to get further away. The whirlwind hit the statue behind him, and exploded. A crack filled the air, and the wide-armed mage statue slowly tilted forward, beginning to tip over. Then another crack filled the air, and the statue froze in its mid-tilted state, supported on some loose rubble, at about a 45 degree angle from the ground. Marcus stood up quickly as the Dragon went overhead, and charged the crackling lightning in both hands, aiming for the head of the Dragon. Just before firing, an involuntary thought crossed his mind, and he quickly slammed his wrists together, the energy pooling in both his hands gathering into one mass, and glowing brighter. An instant later, there was a loud thundercrack, and the black-blue lightning bolt shot out of his hands and arced toward the Dragon. Unfortunately, the beast raised its head slightly, out of the way of the bolt, but not enough to dodge it completely.

The lightning blast struck the Frost Dragon in the center of the front of its neck, blackening the entire area and dislodging one of the larger scales protecting the flesh on its neck. Burned black, the scale tumbled away and landed on the ground. However, the burning damage wasn't the main feature of Marcus' new spell. The sheer impact force of the dual-casted impact bolt travelled along the length of the Dragon's body, shaking its bones. In an already weakened state, the Dragon would not be able to keep itself in the air. Faltering, the Dragon plummeted out of the sky, only able to control its descent somewhat, not stop it.

With a pained roar, the Dragon crashed into the large stone side of the Hall of Countenance, large chunks of stone and wood flying everywhere. Its momentum carried it through the side of the building, through the pillars in front of the Hall's entrance, and onto the College courtyard. As Marcus looked up at the destructive spectacle, the grim satisfaction he felt turned to icy fear. In addition to the chunks of rock and wood flying through the air, Marcus could see the body of a mage tumbling out of the hole in the wall. They flew through the air, propelled by the momentum of the rocks that must have slammed into them when the Dragon hit the wall. The mage hit the ground, rocks and debri landing all around it. Marcus heart dropped when he looked closer. The mage had dark skin, and long, black hair.

Brelyna.

The Dragon's body landed with a shudder, tears visible along its wings, and many of its horns and body spikes were cracked. It didn't stay down though, and almost immediately began standing up. It pressed its legs into the ground, and slowly, shakily, stood up. It raised its head and laid its eyes upon the body of a mortal right in front of it. The mortal was dazed and broken, trying to crawl away from the strange gnarled monster in front of it. The Dragon felt burning rage rise inside its throat. These mortals had hurt it badly, and the mortal in front of it was in the perfect position to feel its wrath. Breathing deeply, the Dragon opened its maw and prepared to annihilate the stunned female in front of it.

Brelyna's body was wracked with pain, and her vision blurred. She could see a large, black and white figure shifting in front of her. It spread its wings and raised its head up, staring right at her. Desperately grabbing at the snowy ground, she tried to crawl away from the monster. Pain shot through her body every time she tried to move. She flopped onto her back, and her heart skipped in fear at the sight of a huge, blurry dragon head rearing over her, its mouth wide open, and a chilling white building up inside it. Her world slowed down, as though it was seen through a blurry screen. The frost built up, slowly, inside the Dragon's mouth. It's eyes stared down at her without pity. A low roaring filled her bloodied head, and the Dragon breath began to descend upon her.

Then, a lone figure leapt in front of her, between her body and the Dragon's mouth, hands glowing a brilliant white-blue. The figure raised its hands and a circle of white light spread out. The frost slammed against the circle, and never touched the two people underneath it. The figure struggled under the force of the Dragon's attack, the blast of frost forcing them to their knees. The figure turned to look down at Brelyna, as her world started to turn black at the edge, clouding inward. Her last sight was two orange eyes staring down at her in fear.

Marcus looked down at the dark elf, as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped. He could feel the ward in his hands slowly begin to collapse under the strength of the dragon frost. The ward couldn't cover his entire body, so much of his calves and feet got cut and slashed by the flying razors of ice. Gritting his teeth, Marcus ignored the pain, and held steady. He looked back at the Dragon, seeing nothing but a world of white ice shards on the other side of the magical barrier. The force of the dragon's magic pressed down on him, like he was pushing against an immensely heavy weight. He felt the magicka drain headache build in the front of his mind, pulsing with ever-increasing pain.

Then the Dragon stopped, and Marcus' ward collapsed an instant later. The dragon looked down with furious anger, seeing its targets untouched. Marcus looked up, standing protectively over Brelyna's unconscious body. It snarled at him, as he drew his sword and dagger.

They both lunged at each other at the same time. Marcus ducked under the jaws of the Dragon, it's teeth clashing together just over his head. Raising his head, he then slashed upward with his dagger, drawing a long cut underneath the Dragon's chin, spraying his hair with black blood.

Growling in pain, the Dragon moved back, and re-focused on Marcus. Its hate-filled eyes were met by the blunt fury in Marcus'. It opened its jaws and tried to crush him between them, but Marcus was ready. He raised his sword up above his head, and projected into his mind the image of Brelyna lying on the ground, broken and battered. Raw anger raced through his mind, and blood rushed to his arms. As the Dragon lunged, Marcus brought his sword down with tremendous force to meet the Dragon's approaching head, crashing it against its cheekbone. The blade raked along the side of the Dragon's face, cutting from its cheek to underneath its eye, as well as batting aside the lunge, so Marcus was facing the exposed left side of the Dragon's head.

Rather than attack it again, Marcus took several quick steps forward, and half vaulted, half rolled over the neck of the Dragon, just as it was bringing its head back forward to face where it thought Marcus would still be. Instead, he was now on the other side of its body, and turned to to face its neck.

Before the Dragon could turn back, Marcus breathed deep, and shouted. The three words of unrelenting force resonated throughout the College.

"Fus, Ro Dah!"

The circle of blue energy hit the Dragon in the center of its body, and pushed it over, rolling it a full 360 degrees. It wasn't as heavy as other dragons, but still looked as large because of the length of its limbs, and the long spiky horns everywhere.

It shot Marcus a glare of anger, and raised its wings taking off toward the sky, putting distance between itself and the mortal that it now knew was no weakling. Marcus watched it fly up, and once he was certain it wouldn't immediately attack him, sprinted over to Brelyna's unconscious body. He bent down and checked her pulse. She was still alive, much to his relief. He gently cradled her body up, and ran as fast as he could over to the entrance to the Hall of the Elements. Once inside, he placed her body down, on the ground. Onmund and J'zargo ran over, with Phinis.

"Is she ok?" Onmund asked, worry on his face.

Marcus nodded, "I think so, just keep her safe."

The others went to say something else, or ask more questions, but Marcus didn't give them a chance to. He was on his feet in an instant, and running back outside, gone almost as soon as he arrived.

The Dragon was hovering several meters above the ground, facing the group of mages. It reared its head back, and enveloped the entire area that the senior members were standing in with frost and ice. Marcus' heart fell into its stomach as he realized the situation. The mages could keep their ward up for a while, but considering how exerting it was for Marcus to block it, they probably wouldn't be able to keep it up for long.

Marcus himself was out of magicka, couldn't use unrelenting force again so soon, and didn't have a bow, so there was no ranged attack he could make that would be able to stop the Dragon. The only other ranged shout he knew was fire breath, which wouldn't be strong enough. There was seemingly nothing he could do to stop the Dragon when it was up that high. It wasn't stopping its frost barrage, as it knew about the abilities of ward spells after Marcus used his right in front of it. The beast would just continue to blast them until they fell.

It just kept hovering there, about 5 metres above the ground, right next to the tilting statue, that endless cascade of whiteness spewing from its mouth to surround the mages. Marcus could catch glimpses of each wizard faltering under their ward spells.

He looked around frantically, desperate to find some way to stop the beast. The only things in the entire courtyard were the mages, the dragon, a few trees, and the crumbling, leaning statue.

An idea popped into Marcus' mind. It wasn't very good, and most people would consider it insane. After a moment's consideration, he decided to act upon it. It was stupid, undoubtedly, but it might just be able to work. Marcus gripped his sword and dagger tightly in both hands, and began to sprint toward the statue. The statue that had keeled forward, the slope that it's back created pointing directly towards the Dragon…

Marcus leapt onto the uprooted foundation, and bolted up the back of the statue, breathing evenly. His legs, cut and bleeding, screamed at him in pain, but Marcus blocked it out. Now was no time for pain. His breath fogged in front of his face, and his brow furrowed in concentration. As soon as his right foot touched the head, he pushed out with his legs, summoning all the strength he could muster. He jumped, sword and dagger raised above his head, and flew through the air toward the Dragon, which was at that point only a few metres away. The Dragon, seeing a fast moving object heading towards it, stopped breathing frost and turned to face him, confusion creeping into its mind, exposing its only, recently added, weak spot.

The small blackened area on its neck, where it was missing one of its scales.

Marcus brought his two blades down, and sunk them both into the blackened, softer area on the Dragon's neck. Wrenching his arms downward, Marcus buried them both to their hilts, spraying his face and body with large amounts of black blood. The sheer surface area covered by both weapons in terms of the area damaged meant it would've been impossible not to hit a crucial artery.

The Dragon roared in pain, its regular wing movements becoming jagged, and irregular. It shook its neck about, trying to dislodge Marcus, but that only served to widen and exacerbate the wound. Huge spouts of inky blood continued to pour out of the wound, and the Dragon's wings could no longer maintain its height. With a pained groan that shook Marcus to his bones, the Dragon fell to the ground.

Letting go of his swords, Marcus leapt away to avoid being crushed, He landed and rolled along the ground, coming up into a crouch, facing the fallen Dragon. A distance away, the senior mages looked out from behind the pillars they had taken cover behind as soon as the Dragon stopped attacking them, seeing Marcus standing a few metres from the fallen body of the monster.

Then, slowly, the Dragon corpse began to burn…

* * *

The mages gathered in the Hall of the Elements, taking care of the wounded. In the end, it had been only Brelyna, Arniel, and Faralda who had been injured. Marcus had a couple scratches on his legs, but Colette healed them away fairly quickly, keeping a wary eye on him as she did so. Tolfdir had gone outside to assess the extent of the damage to the Hall of Countenance, with everyone else gathered around. Every single conscious eye was staring directly at Marcus. He was leaning against one of the support pillars, arms crossed, looking at the ground in front of him. He tried to hide the burning sensation in his cheeks, as he knew everyone was looking at him, and not for what would be considered the right reasons.

Eventually, it was Mirabelle who spoke first.

"While it is a given that we all owe Marcus our lives," she began in a careful voice, "I feel that the nature of his… situation… should have been brought to the attention of all present, regardless of his personal wishes, purely for the benefit of this College."

"Is that really necessary?" Marcus said, raising his eyes to look at the Breton woman from underneath a furrowed brow. "Given I just killed a dragon for you all, is it really possible I might be a threat to warn everyone of?"

This situation was exactly why Marcus felt he shouldn't tell people about his draconic nature. The wary, strange look in the eyes of those gathered made him feel alienated, separate.

Savos said, "It's more than that. Having the Dragonborn in our own College? It would've been an excellent opportunity for study."

"Everything you can learn from observing or dissecting me, you can learn from a book," Marcus said, "It's not as if being Dragonborn is a new phenomenon."

Savos bristled, "But you could still teach the Thu'um, or how to -"

Marcus shook his head, "I'm probably the worst teacher you could find, given how, for me at least, it's nothing but instinct. Face it, from the perspective of the College, there was no reason for you to know, other than for your own satisfaction, which, in my opinion, is stoked enough already."

Mirabelle went to say something else, most likely to reprimand him for talking to the Arch-mage in such a way, but Marcus spoke first, continuing.

"I kept it a secret because it's **my** business. At such an amateur stage as I am with it, it poses no more a threat than advanced magical abilities, which almost everyone here has in spades. I'd say a little more thanks is in order, and a little less… indignant pride..."

Marcus then moved away from the pillar, and walked out of the room. He felt the eyes of everyone on the back of his head, but he had stopped caring. Sure, they might be offended that he kept such a big secret from them, but the reasons behind such offense weren't his fault. He'd have to prepare for others to start watching him with careful gazes, and for the inevitable questions about the condition.

Marcus sighed, as he walked into the Hall of Attainment and collapsed onto his bed. He'd be able to cope with all the strange looks, questions, and curious gazes that people seemed to give him when they learned he possessed the soul and blood of a Dragon, if he also didn't have to deal with the other side of being Dragonborn. That is, the fact that he had to kill the most dangerous creatures the Gods had ever created, and save the world from Akatosh's firstborn. The irony of it all, was that Marcus knew people wished they had his abilities, in a way.

 _Maybe I'm just the wrong type of person…_ Marcus thought wearily, turning over and rubbing his eyes. He was still only 21, and had lived enough trauma before he'd even killed his first Dragon. He wasn't the 7-foot tall chiseled, shirtless man from story tales, long blond hair flowing in the breeze… Perhaps that was who he should've been. Marcus pushed all such thoughts out of his head, and slowly drifted to sleep.

* * *

Marcus sat in the arcaneum, in the darkest, most isolated corner he could find, looking through a book about magical artifacts. He was trying to find mentions of the Staff of Magnus, but the only time it was mentioned was in reference to another staff. It didn't talk about who wielded it, or where it was used.

Marcus' first choice would've been to just ask someone, but he got the feeling they wouldn't want to speak to him for a while. So, instead, the young man just hid in solitary places and buried his head into books, trying to make heads or tails out of the muddled mess of information. It got to the point where he started to read books on magical theory at semi-regular intervals as a sort of mental relief, when previously the same books would've made him require mental relief on their own.

Marcus chewed his lip while running his eyes over the pages. The book was yellowed, signifying its age. The language used was also less than desirable, being rather archaic and using phrases Marcus hadn't heard before. In his focus on the book, he never heard the steps of someone approaching until they were close.

He looked up. It was Mirabelle.

"Did you need something?" Marcus asked, not really willing to get into a conversation.

"No," Mirabelle shook her head, "I just have a letter for you."

Marcus frowned, taking the procured letter from Mirabelle's hand. "How is Brelyna?" He asked, as he tore it open and took out the parchment underneath.

Mirabelle replied, "She's fine, should be up and about in a day or so."

Marcus nodded, and gave the first lines of the letter a quick scan. He started slightly in surprise. It was from Lydia. He went back up to the top and read it fully.

 _Dearest Marcus,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well, though knowing you, that probably isn't likely. I'm half expecting to hear that the entire College has been blown up or has sunk into the ocean in a few days. I'm writing to allay any concerns you might have had about us these last few weeks, but also to relieve some of my own boredom. Things get very dull whenever you aren't around. Both Illia and I are well, though we both get tired sitting around a house all day. The young girl has taken to spending time with the Companions, trying to get them to teach her about knife-fighting. They don't particularly like it, given the girl's tendency to 'cheat', with magic. Still, their respect for you must be significant, as she just has to mention your name and they all comply. I've been sent on a few escort missions with Farengar to some empty Dragon burial sites. It's strange to think that without you, that Dragon would still be flying through the skies._

 _Personally, I miss you a great deal. I get restless during the day, knowing you're out there doing goodness knows what, while I'm twiddling my thumbs in Breezehome. When you've been on as many adventures as we have, inaction tends to have an anxious effect. It doesn't help when I don't know about what you're doing. I'd like to think you're keeping out of trouble, maybe spending some time indoors yourself, learning some spells that'll help you take care of yourself, but I doubt that a fair bit… I understand the reasons why you had to go up there alone, but it doesn't mean I have to like them. I hope you come back soon. Please write back, if you have the time, both Illia and I would love to hear from you._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Lydia._

Marcus forehead creased, after reading the letter. It was oddly… affectionate, in a way. Marcus couldn't help but feel a slight elation in his chest, after reading the hand-written words. She hadn't said much, but Marcus figured this was probably meant as an invitation for a series of letters, sent back and forth. He realized he probably should have been the one to write first, but the last few weeks had been very busy.

"Not bad news, I hope?" Mirabelle asked, looking at Marcus' frown.

"Oh! No, definitely not," Marcus said, his frown turning into a smile, "quite the opposite, in fact."

"Ah, good," Mirabelle nodded, smiling, then turned to walk away.

"Uh, Mirabelle?" Marcus called after her, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes?"

"Do… do you know anything about the staff of Magnus?"

Mirabelle blinked, "Well now, that's an odd question. Why in the world would you be asking?"

Marcus scratched the back of his head, "It's connecting to the eye, in more than name. The Augur told me to look for it."

"The Augur?" Mirabelle's face turned from surprise to concern, "Just what have you gotten yourself involved in, Marcus? Whatever is going on, whatever you're up to… just be very, very careful."

Marcus half-smiled at her, "I killed a Dragon yesterday, I don't think being careful has anything to do with it, to be honest."

Mirabelle frowned, placing a delicate finger on her cheek, assessing Marcus. She didn't like the young man's low-key attitude to such serious matters, but she could hardly treat him the same as any other young student.

"Sorry," Marcus said, casting his eyes down at Mirabelle's uncompromising, 'annoyed mother' stare. "Do… do you know anything about the staff?"

Mirabelle sighed, there was just no dissuading the young man. "Well, it's said to be very powerful, with the capacity to store significant magical power. It's more myth than anything though, and no-one has seen it in decades, or longer. The last I heard of it was when the Synod showed up here looking for it, thinking we were keeping it in a closet somewhere."

Marcus chuckled, that sounded like the Synod. One of his old teachers in Chorral had been ex-Synod himself, and had quite a few derisive things to say about the order.

Marcus still needed to find the staff though, and something told him he was running out of time. "So no-one knows where it is?"

Mirabelle shrugged, "No-one here does. The Synod thought it was in Skyrim, and inquired about the ruins of Mzulft, but that's all I remember. It sounded like they were heading there, but didn't tell us why. If you're really set on finding the staff, they might still be in Mzulft, but I wouldn't expect them to be cooperative."

Marcus nodded, "Ok, I'll just draft a return letter for my friend here, then I'll head out. I shouldn't expect any danger in Mzulft, will I?"

Mirabelle chewed her lip, "I… I'm not sure. Dwarven ruins are generally very dangerous, but if the Synod have been there for months… it should be safe."

"Ok," Marcus nodded, breathing out in relief. He'd heard some pretty bad horror stories from Vilkas about dwemer ruins. "Thanks for your help, Mirabelle."

The breton woman walked forward, and placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder, he looked up from the piece of paper he was about to write on, unsure what her intentions were.

"Just… be careful, Marcus." she said softly, "I know you're used to dangerous situations, but I don't want you diving down a hole you can't get out of..."

"I…" Marcus stopped himself, and nodded slowly, "I will, thank you, Mirabelle."

She smiled sadly at him, and walked away.

Marcus watched her go, feeling her concern and taking it in. It felt nice, to have someone who genuinely cared about him like that. He could always count on Mirabelle. He looked back to the blank paper in front of him, and began thinking of the right words to say to Lydia, without getting her worried about his current situation. Enough people already were, he figured.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter was originally also going to include Labyrinthian, but the dragon fight took so long, and took ages for me to write, so I've decided to put the Labyrinthian quest, and the Ancano battle in the next chapter. As such, it'll be quite long and pretty combat-heavy. It might also take me a bit over a week. Hopefully not, but let's be real, if a 5000 word chapter takes me over a week, the presumably 8000 one that's coming up will take a bit longer. Unless I get myself organized, that is.**

 **In any event, I do hope you're all still enjoying the story. This isn't quite the most inventive or original quest arc, as I'm sure you've all played it dozens of times before, but I do want to insert my own changes here and there. The sooner I get it out of the way, the sooner I can move onto bigger, better things.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	19. Chapter 19

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 19 – The Labyrinth

Marcus pushed open the door to Mzulft. The heavy bronze metal made almost no creaking sound as it opened, which was surprising, given its incredible weight and size, and the fact that it was centuries old. Marcus expected at the very least a little squeak. As soon as he stepped inside, he was greeted to a multitude of sounds. The sizzling of steam, the rhythmic grind of machinery, and the gasp of a dying man.

Marcus saw him, collapsed against the wall opposite. A man, clearly a mage, dressed in blue robes stained red with his own blood. Marcus ran over to his side, and shook him out of his dying stupor. The man's eyes flew open, red-rimmed and bloodshot. They were desperate.

"Crystal… gone..." he coughed blood onto Marcus' hand, "find Paratus… in Oculory..."

Then he slumped forward, dead. Marcus, wide-eyed, took a step back, looking at his corpse. He had multiple gaping wounds, all jagged and wide. He'd been attacked by something with a very nasty-shaped sword. Marcus swallowed, and looked forward, to the next door. He drew his sword and dagger, the green blades glinting in the golden room. Then he walked forward, and pushed open the door, heading for whatever Mzulft had in store for him.

 _It should be safe…_ Marcus remembered Mirabelle's words, rolling his eyes and barely able to suppress a knowing smile from his lips. He twirled both weapons in his hands, and walked forward.

* * *

Marcus plunged his dagger into the neck of the Falmer, and then wrenched it out, tearing open a gaping hole, from which a fountain of blood poured out. It crumpled to the ground, breathing out one last rasping breath. Marcus staggered back, clutching the side where the Falmer had scored a lucky hit with its weird chitin sword. The wound burned terribly, just like all the other wounds the other Falmer had given him did. Some kind of poison, no doubt doctored from the Chaurus, like every other thing the weird elf things had.

Marcus walked up the steps, leading out of a large chamber. The Falmer were undoubtedly creepy, but the Chaurus things they kept as pets, cattle, and guard dogs were even worse. He shuddered as he remembered the first time he'd seen one, an hour ago.

* * *

Marcus had been walking through a rocky cavern. In some sections the dwarven ruin was crumbling apart, while in others it was as if the dwarves had never left. Marcus walked through the tunnel into a rocky cavern, containing the tents of what Marcus had recently become to understand were the rather hostile 'Falmer'. Ugly bunch of bastards, is what they were. The drawings Marcus had seen in the College's books didn't do them justice. Their faces were gnarled and twisted, their eyes nothing but little raw slits in their heads. They rarely wore much clothing, with their only armour being made of a strange chitin that was probably on par with steel.

As Marcus walked into the cavern, a two of these Falmer came waddling out of their chitin tents, sneering and growling. They each had swords, probably poisoned, like most of the previous Falmer Marcus had encountered.

The first came forward quickly, and thrusted at Marcus' stomach. He side-stepped quickly and used his sword to parry the Falmer's upward, then thrusted for the creature's stomach himself with his dagger. Given that it's sword was currently pointed up above it's head, the Falmer couldn't block Marcus' attack, and took the dagger directly in its gut. Marcus then ripped sideways, causing the Falmer's insides to fall out of its own body.

The creature fell to the ground, just as the second Falmer struck. Given the awkward position Marcus was in after just killing the first one, the second Falmer was able to strike him across his shoulder. The pauldron blocked most of the strike, but the creature still landed a lucky scratch below it. The wound itself wasn't fatal, but immediately after blood was drawn, the entire area of skin near it burned with pain. Marcus rolled backward, getting some distance between himself and the snarling elf. He casted a quick charged healing spell, alleviating the burning, paralyzing sensation in his right arm.

The Falmer charged forward, and Marcus ducked under its horizontal swipe, before twirling sideways and slashing upward with his sword, severing the creature's thin, unprotected arm. It screeched in pain, before Marcus reversed the direction on his sword, and cut it across the throat.

With a low cry, the Falmer fell down, leaving Marcus alone.

Or at least, he though he was alone. From behind, he heard a skittering and a kind of 'gnashing' noise. He spun around quickly, and saw a monster that instantly chilled him to the bone.

It was long, and wide, probably about the size of a large dog. It was like a huge centipede, with less legs and more armour. It had large mandibles, which gnashed together as it hurried towards Marcus. It looked completely and utterly terrifying, and alien.

Marcus was practically frozen for a few seconds, his eyes wide in terror at this horrific, monstrous, disgusting creature. It stopped about 5 metres from him, and spat a large green and black glob of acidic bile at him. In Marcus' state, he couldn't dodge it in time. It struck him in the chest, splattering his chestplate with the substance, with flecks hitting his arms and face. The bile burned on touch, causing small burns all over him. His chestplate sizzled, and had much of the metal eaten away by the acid. It seems simple steel wouldn't suffice against it.  
The burning feeling snapped Marcus out of his daze, and he readied himself. As the Chaurus spat again, Marcus dodged to the right, and then sprinted forward to slash at it. The blade caught it in the mouth, slashing off one of the mandibles and causing a spray of green blood to come from the face. The creature made a chittering sound, and crouched down, before quickly leaping onto Marcus.

He hadn't been expecting this, not in the slightest, so Marcus had no chance to dodge it, and as such, the monster landed full onto Marcus' chest. It was very heavy, so it knocked him to the ground. He hands hit the ground, and in his surprise, terror, and shock, he lost grip of both his weapons.

Marcus was now face-to-face with the mandibles of the horrific creature, as its legs skittered around his own limbs. The Chaurus clicked its remaining mandibles directly in front of his eyes, it's green blood dripping onto his neck. Marcus was almost paralyzed in fear at such a sight, but he knew he couldn't freeze up or he'd die.

Not wanting to waste time scrabbling his hands on the ground for his weapons, Marcus poured a frantic, large amount of magicka into his hands. As the monster reared its head back to strike at Marcus' exposed neck, his hands crackled with electricity and the blasted it with a dual impact bolt at point-blank range, right into its abdomen.

The force of the spell knocked the creature over, flipping it onto its back right in front of Marcus. Sparing no time, Marcus looked to his right, grabbed his sword, and leapt up. Before the Chaurus could roll over or move, he drove the blade through the softer gaps in its armour on its underbelly, sinking it deep. It chittered, and twitched once, before staying still.

Marcus staggered back, immense relief flooding his body now that the monster was dead. He now knew how Farkas felt when he saw frostbite spiders. He casted a little restoration magic to deal with the burns, but probably knew he'd still have some faint scar marks on his lower neck regardless. Marcus walked over and picked up his dagger, sheathing it along with his sword, before moving further on.

* * *

Marcus had encountered another Chaurus further down, but since he knew what to expect, the second encounter hadn't gone as bad as the first. Marcus knelt down to examine the body of the dead Falmer. It had a strange large pouch on it, with a big ball inside. He opened it up, and saw a strange orb, inlaid with circular crystals. Marcus recalled what the dying man had said out the front of Mzulft, about a crystal being gone. Maybe it was the same one?

Regardless, Marcus grabbed the orb and kept it, figuring it might come in handy later. He walked up a set of stairs at the other end of the room, then along a long corridor, coming to a large door. He gave it a push, but the thing wouldn't budge. Marcus was about to look around for a key when he heard a voice on the other side.

"Gavros?" it said, "is that you? I'd almost given up hope… let me get the door."

Then the door opened, revealing another one of the Synod mages Marcus had seen on the way in, except this one was alive.

"What?!" cried the mage. "You're not Gavros! Where's Gavros? What've you done with him?"

Marcus replied, "Your friend Gavros is dead. Killed by the Falmer."

The mage kicked at the ground, "Curse them! They've ruined everything! If Gavros is gone, there's no hope… He had the crystal, and without that all our efforts are wasted. And you… if you're here for treasure, wisdom, or anything, I'm afraid you've wasted your time."

Marcus frowned, "I found a crystal on a Falmer corpse back there, would it happen to be what you need?" He took out the crystal and handed it over.

The mage's face brightened. "Ha! That's it! You've saved our project! Though, with the Falmer skulking around I'm still going to need your help. I'm Paratus, follow me. I'll explain on the way."

Marcus' brow furrowed, unsure what was going on, but he decided to follow the mage nonetheless.

Paratus spoke as he walked. "I was the one who thought of using this… Oculory. I don't know what the Dwarves called it, something unpronounceable I'm sure. From our research, all this machinery was designed to collect starlight, and then… split it, somehow? It was my idea to replace the key elements with the focusing crystal. Months of enchantments went into it, so let's hope they got it right."

They walked up a sloped walkway that curved around a huge stone ball the size of a castle. When they got to the top, Marcus gasped. There was a giant mechanism in the center, consisting of a bunch of lenses pointed at panels on the wall. A stream of light came down from the ceiling, into the center of the lenses.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Paratus said, appreciating Marcus' amazed look. "Took so much work to get it running again… Place the crystal in the central apparatus, and we can start the process for focusing it."

Marcus did as he asked, hoping that this'll help him find the staff, through either pleasing the Synod or by analyzing whatever the machine did. He figured if the Synod were interested in the staff, then whatever the crystal did might help him find it.

"Now," Paratus began, "the crystal needs to be focused. Heating or cooling the crystal will change how the light passes through it. You'll need spells to do that. You must be from the College, so I assume you know a frost spell and a fire spell?"

Marcus shook his head, "I know fire, not frost. Never studied it too much."

"Divines..." muttered Paratus, "well, there should be some basic tomes around here somewhere, seeing as your training is even more sub-standard that I've heard."

Marcus frowned deeply, "The same creatures that butchered your entire team and forced you to lock yourself in a room, I massacred on my own as I fought my way to your sorry ass. I may not have a frost spell, but I've got one better..."

Then Marcus stepped forward, and took a deep breath, facing the focusing crystal.

"IIZ!"

A white circle of energy flew from Marcus towards the crystal, hitting it and causing the rays of light it emitted to move further down the ceiling and walls. Paratus looked stunned at the sight of the Thu'um.

"You..." he stammered, "You can use the voice..."

Marcus smirked at him, then walked up to the crystal. The shout had worked, but too well. The light beams needed to move up a little way to align with the circles around the room.

Igniting fire in his hand, Marcus applied a little heat to the mechanism. The light seemed to be in the right position, but the discs that the circles were attached to were in the wrong place. Marcus headed up to the top of the room, and started pushing buttons randomly until the discs were in the right spot.

As the light aligned with the circles, it collected in the mechanism and shone onto the wall.

"Finally," Paratus muttered, "years of work… finally going to pay off..."

Marcus hurried down to look at the wall, it seemed to be projecting a map of Skyrim.

"What is it?!" Paratus cried, "This projection should be lit up like the night sky! What happened? Why's it highlighting Winterhold? Did you know what we were attempting? Explain yourself!"

Marcus held his hands up, "I don't know what you're talking about..."

Paratus pointed a finger at Marcus' face, "You show up here, just as our work is nearly completed, and now I can't get any results because of something at your College. Do you think me a fool?"

Marcus said, "I truly have no idea what you're talking about."

Paratus gritted his teeth, "Either your lying to me… or…" his expresion changed, "You have something at your college don't you, something immensely powerful?"

Marcus blinked, "You mean the Eye of Magnus?"

Paratus' eyes widened, and his assumed a thoughtful look, "The Eye of Magnus? Well, I suppose if that means what I think it does..."

Marcus shook his head, time was wasting. "Look, can you help me find the Staff of Magnus or not?"

"Yes..." Paratus stroked his chin, "the staff… interesting."

Paratus walked closer to the map, examining it in fine detail. "I can't explain the details, that would be giving away many Synod secrets. I also doubt you'd be able to comprehend the details. What's important is that all this work was designed to reveal to us sources of great magical power. Purely to help safeguard the Empire, of course."

Marcus' face darkened, "Of course..."

"Instead, only two places are revealed. One if your college, the other is Labyrinthian… So it seems that despite your intentions, mage from Winterhold, I've beaten your little game. I know you have something in Winterhold the Synod would be very interested in. So fine, trudge off to labyrinthian in search of your staff. I shall give my full report to the Council in Cyrodiil. This is not over, I assure you."

Marcus shook his head tiredly, "Whatever, little man. I got what I came for. Try not to get killed on the way out."

With those words, Marcus turned on his heel and walked out, heading for a door in the next room that he supposed would lead outside. As he walked, he thought hard.

If what Paratus said was true, and that practically every magical artifact in Skyrim should have been displayed, then the interference from the Eye and the Staff was immense. It indicated that the two objects were far, far more powerful than any of them had thought before. It seemed that the situation was indeed as serious as the Augur had said. Whatever the Eye was, it needed to be removed or contained as soon as possible.

He got a horrible premonition that he was going to be too late.

* * *

Marcus headed through the College grounds, but decided to take a detour through the Hall of Attainment, where Brelyna was. He walked into her room, finding her still asleep, as he suspected. The damage she'd sustained during the Dragon fight wasn't severe, but Colette liked to keep her patients asleep until they were completely healed. It sped up the process in the long run, she said.

Brelyna looked peaceful, in a sense. Her brow was slightly furrowed, which made Marcus smile. No doubt she was dreaming about some magical problem that needed to be solved, or perhaps tested on her friends...

Speaking of which, Marcus had his own magical problem to solve, and time was wasting. Leaving the room, Marcus walked outside, and headed for the main Hall.

Marcus walked through the entrance to the Hall of the Elements, to see an unusual, highly worrying sight. Both Mirabelle and Savos were there, staring at the entrance to the main hall, which had been locked shut, and covered by the same type of swirling energy barrier that had originally surrounded the Eye in Saarthal.

"I don't care what it is!" Savos said to Mirabelle, "I want it down, now! I need to know what he's doing in there!"

Marcus walked forward, "What on Nirn is going on?"

Savos turned, "Ancano, he's in there doing… something. We don't know what. I'm going to have his head for this… Give us a hand will you? We're throwing everything we've got at this barrier."

Then both Mirabelle and Savos charged up destruction spells in their hands, and began casting them at the barrier. A second later, Marcus joined them, casting a gout of fire at the blue-green energy.

Half a minute later, the barrier was down, and the three people rushed into the room.

Ancano was casting some kind of spark spell at the Eye, and barely seemed to register the presence of the three other mages.

Savos ran up to Ancano. "Ancano! Stop this at once! I command you!"

Ancano ignored him entirely, his gaze fixated on the eye. Savos charged up electrical spells in his hands, and began walking closer to Ancano.

Mirabelle cried, "Don't go near him!" Worry and fear evident on her face.

Savos didn't listen, and one step later, he was next to Ancano. He charged up the spell, and was about to unleash it on the elf when Ancano snapped his gaze over to look at him, staring him in the eyes.

Marcus was about to unsheathe his sword, and approach Savos and Ancano, when a roaring explosion filled his ears. The Eye seemed to explode with energy, and the last thing Marcus saw was the entire room spinning, awash with green and blue light.

He awoke an unknown amount of time later, with Mirabelle shaking him. As he opened his eyes, her face relaxed somewhat, but only slightly.

"Are you ok, Marcus?" she asked desperately, "can you walk?"

Marcus sat up, shaking his head to clear away the yellow spots on his vision. He groaned, "Ugh… yeah… I can..."

Mirabelle sat back, collapsing against a pillar. "Good… I need you on your feet, we're in trouble here. Ancano is doing something with the eye, and we can't stop him. I haven't seen Savos since the explosion, he may have been blown clear, so I need you to find him, quickly. He may be injured."

Marcus knelt down beside the breton woman, "Are you ok? Will you be alright?"

She waved a dismissive hand, panting, "I'll be fine, I… just need a minute to catch my breath… Find Savos."

Marcus glanced at the woman, a torn look on his face. He didn't like leaving her here. A moment later, he was on his feet, running out the door. Once he was outside, he saw the rest of the mages gathered around the body of the Arch-mage. Marcus crouched down beside the body, checking it for any signs of life. There was none.

Tolfdir ran up, "What's happening in there?!"

Marcus looked over, his voice rapid and inlaid with panic, "Ancano! He's doing something with the Eye!"

Tolfdir looked at the Hall. "He's responsible for this? The Arch-mage, dead?"

Marcus nodded, "He needs to be stopped, and to do that, I think I need to go get the Staff of Magnus."

Tolfdir shook his head, "There's more, something has happened in Winterhold. Something to do with what Ancano did. You need to get some people and get down there, and make sure it's safe."

Marcus nodded, and ran in the direction of the town, along with Faralda and Arniel. As they reached the bridge, they could see strange swirls of light dancing amongst the houses.

Marcus briefly closed his eyes as they ran, a sad, desperate look on his face. They were all right. The Augur, the monks, they were all right. There was no way he could've averted the crisis. It had already begun, and now they were feeling the full effects. He wasn't smart enough, or quick enough. Marcus muttered a soft, quiet prayer that no-one else would die as a result of his own actions in Saarthal, which were ultimately to blame for everything.

* * *

An hour later, after securing the town, Marcus and the others ran back to the College. As Faralda and Arniel grouped up with the others, who were gathering the other students and making sure everyone was ok, Marcus went into the Hall. Mirabelle was just inside the door, looking at the huge swirling energy surrounding the Eye, and Ancano.

Marcus said, "I've dealt with the problem in Winterhold. It's safe, for now."

Mirabelle sighed, "Good. Thank you. I wish I could say the same for us…" She turned and looked Marcus straight in the eye, a sad look of concern in her eyes. "Tolfdir and I can try to keep this contained, but you need to get your hands on the staff of Magnus. Now."

Marcus breathed in deeply, then nodded, "Ok… I'm off to Labyrinthian."

"What?" Mirabelle frowned, taking a step forward and placing a hand on Marcus' shoulder to make sure he didn't go anywhere until she received more information, "Are you sure the staff is… there? That… can't be a coincidence."

Marcus tilted his head sideways, "What are you on about?"

She rubbed her forehead, things were just happening to quickly. "The Arch-mage… Savos… he gave me something a while ago, said that I'd know what to do with it when the time came. I… I think he meant this to be for you. I'm not sure why, but I think it's something very personal for him..."

She handed him a torc. A heavy metal circular ring. Marcus looped it through his belt, and nodded, assuming he'll understand its use later on.

"I..." Mirabelle looked at her feet, "I also want you to take this, an Amulet of Savos'. Whatever is in Labyrinthian, it'll be well-guarded, so I hope it'll help keep you safe." She handed over the amulet, before speaking in a very soft voice. "Please Marcus… take care, get back here in once piece."

She looked up, and straightened, pulling her stoic manner back together, "Now go, and bring back that staff before Ancano brings down the whole College around us."

Marcus went to saw something, but couldn't find the right words. He took a deep breath but nothing came out. Mirabelle just smiled at him, and patted him on the cheek. In the end, he just nodded, and walked out. Later, he would wish he'd found the nerve to say something… anything.

As Marcus walked out, Brelyna walked up to him. He was about to congratulate her on a speedy recovery, and probably tell her about the situation, but she wrapped him in a hug before he could say anything.

"You saved my life Marcus..." She whispered softly.

He chuckled nervously, "Of course I did, was I supposed to let you die?"

She released him, and glanced behind him at the Hall of the Elements. "I only woke up a few hours ago, but Colette wouldn't let me come out and help you with the Winterhold situation. I'm sorry about Savos..."

"As am I..." Marcus nodded sadly. They both lasped into silence for a few seconds, then Marcus looked up, "But I don't have time to mourn. Not yet. I need to get the Staff of Magnus, and stop whatever Ancano is doing."

"I know..." Brelyna nodded, "That's why I wanted to see you before you left. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not." Marcus shook his head, "You're going to stay here with Tolfdir and the others, where it's safer."

"You saved my life, Marcus," the dark elf said firmly, "I'm not letting you go through that place alone. Telvanni wizards always pay their debts."

Marcus groaned, and shook his head again, "Labyrinthian won't be like the Midden, Brel… It's probably one of the oldest, and thus most dangerous ruins in the entirety of Skyrim. If one or both of us goes in, there's a good chance we won't be coming out."

"All the more reason for me to come with you," she said stubbornly, "If it's that dangerous, you'll need the help."

Marcus' tone grew louder. "This isn't negotiable. You're staying here. I will **not** let another member of this College die."

Brelyna took a step back, frowning angrily at him, "You think Savos' death was on your hands? Blame Ancano, or Magnus, but don't blame yourself."

Marcus threw his hands up, exasperated, "Why do you think I've been having all these bloody visions and shit? Why do you think I've been chosen by these monks and the Augur? It's been my responsibility to lessen this crisis, and I'm failing! The situation is getting worse by the minute, Brelyna, and I need to make sure everyone I care about is safe, so stay here!"

She took a step toward him, "Whatever Ancano is up to, I'm only going to be safe if you get your hands on that staff, thus, I'm going to help you."

"If I let you come with me, I'll be allowing you to put yourself in mortal danger," Marcus shook his head adamantly. "How do you think I'll feel if you get hurt? How do you think I'll feel if you die?!"

She shouted back at him, her fists clenched, "How do you think I'd feel if the same thing happened to you?! If you do this alone, you'll only be getting yourself killed! Is that really the best way to handle the 'situation'?! You think that'll make things better?!"

Marcus didn't answer, he just stormed past her, heading for the gate leading to the College bridge. He was about to walk through the gate when it snapped shut in his face. He turned, seeing Brelyna' hand outstretched and a blue magic curling in her hand.

 _How the hell does she know the spell to control the College gate?_ Marcus thought. Tolfdir or Faralda must have told her, for whatever reason. His fists clenched, and he briefly thought about using Unrelenting Force to blast open the gate, but his heart melted when he saw the desperate, scared look on Brelyna's face. Angry tears were forming in her eyes.

Marcus sighed, and his body language slumped, almost defeated, "Let me leave, Brelyna..."

Brelyna crossed her arms. "I will… but not without me."

Marcus looked at the ground, closing his eyes. He knew that tone in her voice. He'd heard it plenty of times. It was the same tone Lydia would get, whenever he tried to tell her a particular outing would be too dangerous. He just… he didn't know why, but he really wanted to make sure Brelyna stayed safe. If he could save anyone from the calamity that was unfolding, it would probably be her.

 _I only want to protect these people…_ Marcus wished silently, _why do they insist on throwing themselves into the fire for me?_

Marcus breathed out, "Fine. Let's go."

* * *

Marcus shivered as he walked through the exterior ruins of Labyrinthian, and not due to just the cold. The place was massive, and he hadn't even gone inside yet. There was large mounds and huge towering gateways everywhere. The ancient nords must have had some pretty freaky magic to create something as extensive as this.

Brelyna walked up behind him, "It gives you a bad vibe, doesn't it? The cold stone everywhere, nothing in the air except snow and the occasional roar of a troll."

"Indeed," Marcus muttered, constantly scanning the ruins for anything hostile, "Let's get a move on, I don't want to stay here a second longer than I have to."

They moved through the ruins until they came to the largest structure. It had a gigantic door on the front, but there was no visible way to open it, save for a slot in the center. Marcus walked up, and fitted the torc through it, and he heard a few mechanisms click. He began to push the door open, but stopped after a second, as Brelyna was tapping on his shoulder. He glanced back, and saw a heap of ghostly figures standing there.

"Who are they?" She asked, taking an involuntary step backward.

"I'm… not sure" Marcus stepped closer to them, they didn't seem to react to him.

Then they began talking. Not to Brelyna or Marcus, but to each other. Marcus recognized the voice of one of them. It was Savos. He sounded younger, less… weary. The ghostly version of him had a smoother face too, less wrinkles.

"I think this might just be a sort of time… thingy," Marcus said, "some kind of relapse, or a window to the past. This must be Savos and his friends from his first visit here."

Brelyna's dark eyes went wide, "How the hell is that even possible?"

"I have no clue..."

The ghosts were talking in excited tones, discussing what might be inside the ruin. They sounded optimistic, voicing their opinions on what magical items or powers might be within. Marcus liked their attitude, though he could already guess at their fate, seeing as none of them were still around today, and he'd never even heard of them. After a while, the ghosts disappeared, leaving Marcus and Brelyna alone. He turned back to the door, glancing sideways at her.

"You sure you want to do this?"

She looked back, the hint of a smile touching her lips. "Need you even ask?"

Marcus sighed, and pushed open the door.

They made their way through the first part of Labyrinthian ok, not facing anything except a few loose rocks and a lot of dust. Eventually, the came to an opening, leading into a huge cavern. It was as big as the marketplace in Whiterun, maybe bigger, by the looks of it, but mostly empty except a few huge rock towers holding up the ceiling of the cavern.

"Oh..." breathed Brelyna, "this looks bad..."

As if on cue, from behind the rock towers, walked a bunch of skeletons. They weren't like the skeletons Marcus had seen before, these ones wore the cloaks and hoods of a mage, and had white frost flowing down from their bony hands. On either side of the chamber, there was about 5 or 6 of them. Marcus and Brelyna got into a guarded stance, readying their spells and weapons.

"You take the ones on the left," Marcus said, "I'll take the ones on the right."

Brelyna was about to reply in affirmation, when a groaning roar filled the cavern. Marcus instantly snapped to look at the center of the area, where a large mound was shifting and dirt was flying everywhere. Slowly, crawling out from the mound, came the skeleton of a Dragon. It roared again, the lack of flesh in its throat making the sound chilling. Marcus couldn't believe what his eyes were showing him. The quantity and level of magic required to keep the Dragon in one piece, let alone reanimate it, was incredible.

"How…" Brelyna gulped, "How about you take care of that, instead?"

Marcus blinked, and rubbed his eyes, "Um… ok."

He drew his sword, and charged fire into his left hand, before sprinting forward. Behind him, Brelyna ran off to deal with the humanoid skeletons.

The Dragon lumbered forward, creaking whenever it moved. Marcus had no idea how to fight it, or if it could even be killed. But at least, on the plus side, it couldn't fly, and from the looks of it, it had no breath attack.

Once Marcus got close, the Dragon opened its jaws wide, and tried to crush him between them. He dived to his right, hearing the bony teeth clamp together just behind him. He then jumped up, and lashed out at the bony spine that formed the neck of the Dragon. His sword bit into the bone, sinking about an inch below the surface, but doing little else. The skeletal dragon roared again, swung its head to the side, hitting Marcus in the chest, and knocking him away, with his sword still stuck in the monster's neck.

Marcus landed on his back, and did a quick backwards somersault, to end up on his hands and knees in a crouched pose. He could hear Brelyna summoning atronachs and firing lightning bolts somewhere behind him. He hoped she was having better luck bringing down her foes than he was with his.

With normal dragons, damage to the flesh and blood loss was enough to bring them down, but when both those mortal requirements were removed, how does one physically harm a Dragon? The bones of a Dragon were immensely strong, which was one of the reasons why they were worth so much to the right buyer. Thus, Marcus had little hope of cutting through them with refined malachite weapons. He needed to think of something else, and fast. The skeletal Dragon was slowly shifting itself to face him again. It moved a lot slower than other Dragons, due to obvious reasons.

Marcus glanced around the cavern, thinking quickly and looking for anything that might help him bring the beast down. He couldn't see anything, except the second lot of skeleton mages making their way toward Brelyna. He needed to kill the Dragon quickly, then head over and help her.

The Dragon roared again, and Marcus ripped his gaze from his surroundings back to the task at hand. The Dragon reared it's head up, and attempted to bite down at Marcus from above. He rolled forward, the lunge missing him by centimeters, then ripped his sword out of the creature's neck, and stabbed upward at the bottom of its skull.

It did very little, however, and his blade just scraped against the bone, leaving a long scratch, but doing nothing else. The Dragon then flattened itself to the ground, and with Marcus still beneath its neck, just behind its head, he was pinned underneath the heavy bones of its neck. He hacked away at the bones, but did little damage, and could feel the air bring crushed from his lungs. Some of his ribs began to crack, and rub painfully against each other. He could see the Dragon shifting its weight around, getting into a better position so that when it released him, it could lunge at his prone body with its jaws, and cut him in half.

Even in skeletal form, Dragons were still surprisingly smart when it came to combat. Marcus couldn't let that happen, so he decided to use the one trick the Dragon seemed incapable of using.

"Feim!"

The Thu'um resonated throughout the chamber, bouncing off the walls and echoing away. His form ethereal, Marcus rolled out from under the Dragon's neck, passing through the bones with ease. As he stared up at the Dragon, he saw something above it, something that made his heart flutter with excitement. A stalactite. A big one, easily the size of a horse.

A plan formed in Marcus' mind, and he instantly acted upon it. Before his ethereal form shout wore off, he got onto his feet and ran at the Dragon that had turned to face him again. It lunged at him, but its jaws went straight through him. It shuffled back, confused. Marcus then took a running jump, just as the shout expired, leaping onto the Dragon's head. With the shout's effects gone, spasms of pain shot through Marcus' body once more, resultant from his bruised ribs, but he kept going. Before it had a chance to shake him off, Marcus kept his momentum going and ran along the bony neck of the Dragon, onto its back. Without the plethora of body horns and spikes real Dragons had, it was a fairly simple task.

Once he was directly on top of its back, just as it began to shake itself, Marcus took a deep breath and shouted at the roof of the cavern.

"Fus... Ro Dah!"

The circle of blue energy rushed upward, and slammed directly onto the chosen stalactite. As Marcus had hoped, the sheer quantity of force and energy contained within the shout shook the spike of stone, and it quivered, before dislodging with a rumble and shower of pebbles.

 _Perfect,_ he thought, crouching down and leaping off the Dragon's back. The beast began to turn, eager to close the distance between it and its prey once more, but it never got the chance. With a loud crack, the large spike of stone speared through the torso of the Dragon. It didn't even get a chance to roar in pain. The stone crushed most of the bones in its torso, and pinned it to the ground. The entire posture of the undead beast slumped, dead.

Marcus breathed out in relief, before hearing a scream to his right. He was instantly on his feet again, casting a quick healing spell to allay the pain in his chest as he ran. Brelyna had a small ice spike through her shoulder, but she'd managed to kill about 8 of the 11 skeletal mages. Marcus ran toward, and with the momentum of his sprint, was able to sever the head of another. The remaining two mages turned away from Brelyna on the ground, and focused on Marcus, giving her the chance to hit another one with a lightning spell, blasting it apart. Marcus then ducked under the sword swing of the last, before cutting off its arm with a spinning upward slash, then he bathed it in a gout of fire from his hand until it dropped.

"Are you ok?" Marcus said quickly, sheathing his sword and moving over to kneel down beside Brelyna.

"Yeah..." she groaned, casting a restoration spell, "it's fine, give me a sec." The healing magic melted the ice spike, and closed up the wound. She then drank down one of the healing potions she'd brought with her, making her almost as good as new, minor some stiffness in her arm.

Marcus smiled, happy she was ok, then stood up. "Let's keep moving."

They jogged through to the other end of the cavern. As Brelyna passed by the crushed corpse of the skeletal Dragon, she muttered in amazement. It was an impressive sight, the large remains impaled by a huge shard of stone.

"By Azura..." she breathed, looking forward at Marcus with wonder. He really was the Dragonborn of legend, for sure. Marcus heard her gasp of amazement, a slight blush reaching his cheeks. The two mages moved through the cavern, and reached the opening at the far end. Once they were through, they walked down a short set of stairs, only to see the ghostly figures of Savos' old friends appear once more. There was only 5 of them, now, instead of 6.

Brelyna and Marcus exchanged a glance, but said nothing, opting to listen to what the ghosts were saying to one another. It seems their optimistic outlook on their expedition was unfounded, and they were all terrified of what happened in the previous chamber. Apparently one of their group had been literally… torn apart, by the monsters. One of them, an Argonian, was beginning to question what they'd gotten themselves into. Savos urged them to move forward, stating that there was no way they could turn back. The others grudgingly agreed, opting to stay more alert. Then they faded.

Marcus could only imagine the fear that they must have experienced. They sounded to be his own age, young people who wanted to explore a new exciting place, only to find themselves wrapped up in something much more dangerous than they envisioned.

 _Poor fools,_ Marcus thought sadly, shaking his head.

"Do you think there's a chance any of them survived?" Brelyna asked, "but they just never returned to the College afterward?"

"Hmm..." Marcus chewed his lip, "No, I don't think so. Why would handing the torc to Mirabelle mean so much to Savos, if he hadn't lost all his friends here?"

She sighed, "Yeah, you're right. It makes me a little nervous, hopefully we'll do a bit better than them."

Marcus nodded, "This isn't my first nordic cairn. Just keep close to me, and we'll be fine."

Brelyna smiled at him, and was happy to walk a little closer to him, scooting over so they could almost hold hands. They didn't, but they were close enough that they could've.

They moved into the next room, which was empty, save for a layer of ice covering the door opposite. As they moved closer, a wave of blue energy flowed out of the door, blasting past the two mages, and continuing out. As it passed through him, Marcus instantly felt exhausted. The energy was accompanied by a rasping, guttural voice.

"Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?"

Marcus stopped, stunned. The language was Dovahzul, that much he was certain, but it hadn't come from a Dragon. The voice was different, Dragon voices were deeper, prouder. This voice was… horrific, and twisted.

"What is it?" Brelyna asked, her voice full of concern, "You've gone white? What did the voice say?"

"I… I don't know," Marcus rubbed his forehead, "I think it asked us something."

"Well, given the nature of this place, I don't think answering is a good idea."

"Agreed."

They continued ahead, using fire spells to melt away the ice on the door, and moving on.

For the next two hours, Marcus and Brelyna moved through Labyrinthian carefully and cautiously. Despite the obvious age of the place, there was still various traps in full working order, and Brelyna almost got skewered at one point. Luckily, Marcus had managed to pull her away as soon as he heard the familiar, tell-tale metallic clicking.

At regular intervals, they came across Draugr, but there was never more than two at a time, and ranged fire spells could generally drop them before they got close. However, it seems the further the pair delved, the stronger the Draugr were getting. Initially, there was nothing but restless Draugr, and the occasional Wight, but now there seemed to be a new kind of spectral Draugr that took twice the amount of punishment before it fell. As they moved through chamber after chamber, they felt their magicka begin to dwindle. The breaks between combat were simply too short for an adequate rest, and the combination of destruction and restoration magic meant that progress was tiring.

The occasional garbled rant from the ominous voice didn't help, as it was always accompanied by a blast of draining energy. The voice switched to Common on the third time, but didn't say anything except insulting the common language for being 'guttural', which was ironic considering its own voice tone.

Upon coming across a very large, more vertically orientated cavern, Marcus, on a whim, decided to explore a side chamber, hoping to find some magicka or healing potions to make the going a bit easier. Instead, he came across a rather grizzly scene.

There was a small room, no larger than the average bedroom. It was occupied by a large table, on which was an enchanting set, a stack of books, a dagger, and a set of bloodied bones scattered about.

"By Azura," Brelyna muttered, "what kind of magics were being practiced here?"

Marcus picked up a skull, and turned it over in his hand. A glob of red meat fell off and hit the ground near his boot. Brelyna turned a shade paler.

He shook his head, "Divines… and people think the College is evil for allowing necromancy..."

Marcus put the skull down and wiped the blood off his hands, and walked over to examine the books. They all were written in some strange text, except one. It had no picture or title on the front, with just a deep ochre-red hard cover. It seemed to be some kind of restoration spell tome, except there was a splatter of blood on the first page, which was counter-intuitive.

"Hmmm..." Marcus mused, flipping through a couple pages. The word 'balance' came up a lot.

He slipped it into a pouch on his belt, that he'd had Sergius make for him a while back. It looked only about 2 inches deep, but was in reality, over triple that. It was good for storing books to read when out on the road.

"Let's keep moving," Marcus said, "there's nothing else here."

Brelyna nodded, eager to leave the sight of the bloodied bones behind her. She was clearly less used to such things as Marcus.

They continued onward, until they came to a much larger, very open chamber. The roof was a full castle-height above. The cavern was separated by a large wall in the middle, sectioning off the area Marcus and Brelyna were in, from what seemed to be a strange graveyard. Truly, Labyrinthian was less of a tomb, and more of an ancient city.

They made their way across the first section, cutting down a robed skeleton, and opened the gate, emerging into the graveyard.

Or at least, Marcus thought it was a graveyard. It was littered with chest-high pillars of stone, placed sporadically. It might've been some ancient nordic/dragon cult place of immense cultural significance, but he really didn't have a clue.

As they got closer, they saw little orbs of light drifting amongst the pillars. They looked similar to the magical anomalies that he'd seen throughout Winterhold.

"Hold up," Brelyna said, pulling him back by the shoulder. "They're wisps, which means that nearby, is the wisp mother."

"Oh..." Marcus' brow creased with a small amount of worry, "that doesn't sound good. We're going to have to fight that, won't we?"

She nodded, summoning sparks into her hands. Marcus breathed out, and drew his sword. They moved up, and hacked down some of the wisps that drifted too close. As soon as the first one hit the ground, up ahead, the wisp mother appeared.

She looked like a ghostly pale woman, floating a few centimeters above the ground, and was completely naked except for a few ribbons of ghostly cloth draped over her. A strange green smoke flowed off her body whenever she moved. It was kind of attractive, in a really weird sense, and Marcus felt himself somewhat… transfixed, by the odd beauty in front of him. Then the wisp mother suddenly decided to fling a rather large ice spike at him, and the moment was gone.

Knowing a ward wouldn't be charged in time, Marcus rolled to the right, just as Brelyna rolled to the left. They each took cover behind a stone block. The ice spike hit the ground between them, and shattered. Marcus looked over at Brelyna, a plan forming quickly in his mind. He glanced over his shoulder, at the area leading up the wisp mother. There was about 3 wisps, then the mother was on a bit of a raised platform. As another ice spike crashed against the rock he was leaning against, Marcus leapt out from behind cover, and cast the strongest ward he could in front of him.

He called out to Brelyna, "Get behind me!"

She nodded in understanding, running over and keeping behind him, and thus within the area of protection created by the ward. Marcus then began to run forward, Brelyna sticking close. As they passed the angry wisps, she fired separate lightning bolts at each of them, the magical energy rupturing the magics that held the little creatures together.

Marcus kept running until they were close to the wisp mother, where he switched to fire magic, and unleashed a large gout of fire at it, along with Brelyna's lightning bolts. The wisp mother soon fell, but not before launching one last ice spike at Marcus. He managed to move a bit out of the way, but the magical shard still brushed past his leg, removing about a coin-sized chunk of flesh from the side.

Marcus cried out, before suppressing it by biting down on his tongue, and collapsed to one knee, clutching his leg. Blood trickled steadily from the wound.

"Marcus!" Brelyna cried as he went down. She finished off the wisp mother, who exploded into green dust, and instantly knelt down beside Marcus. "Will you be ok?" she asked quickly, already dispelling the sparks in her hands for restorative magic.

"Yeah..." Marcus groaned, through gritted teeth, forming healing magic in his own hands. He placed them on his leg and tried to heal, but all that left his hands was a few golden sparks, and that's it. His magicka was basically depleted.

Brelyna looked down, and smiled softly at him, as his face began to crease in frustration. "Here," she said, "Let me do it."

She placed her hands gently on his leg, and slowly began to heal the wound. Blood soon stopped flowing, and little tendrils of golden light flowed from her dark fingers, onto the skin of his leg. As the relief passed through him, Marcus found his eyes involuntarily drawn to Brelyna's, staring into the twin orbs of twinkling blackness. Brelyna, focusing on healing Marcus' leg, didn't look up until half a minute later, when it was nearly done.

Their eyes met, and while both individuals felt the desire to look away instantly, they couldn't bring themselves to do it immediately. Instead, they stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds too long, just long enough to make it somewhat awkward. Marcus got lost in the midnight black colour, and Brelyna got entranced by the fiery hazel.

Then the spell was broken, and they each looked away, at the ground or at the ceiling, coughing nervously. Neither admitted or mentioned what just happened.

"Well…" Marcus said, standing up a little too quickly, "we… we better keep moving."

"Agreed." Brelyna nodded, hints of red touching her cheeks.

They walked onward, heading through an opening behind the remains of the wisp mother. They walked for another hour, Marcus switching to use his sword and dagger, rather than magic. Brelyna also found a staff of lightning, to keep her from resorting to her own magicka use as often. After a while, they came across a word wall.

"Well..." Marcus muttered, as he entered the room and saw it, "Looks like every nordic ruin has one of these..."

Brelyna frowned, "What… what is it?"

"It's a… story, more or less," Marcus explained, "describes a particular event in the history of this place." He walked up to one section, that to Brelyna, was no different to the rest. "But this section here," he said, "This is what I'm interested in..."

His fingers brushed the text, and he almost instantly collapsed to his hands and knees. Brelyna rushed over to his side, crouching beside him and clutching his shoulders.

"Are you ok?" she asked quickly, worry creasing her face, "what happened?"

"It's fine..." Marcus waved a hand near his face, "It happens every time, I'm still not used to the feeling..."

"Ah… I see," Brelyna stood up slowly, smiling, "more 'Dragonborn' business then."

"Yeah," Marcus gasped a breath of air, and looked up, smiling. "Just give me a minute, I'll be fine."

Marcus sat down, and rested his back against the stone wall, taking steady breaths. Brelyna joined him. The magicka depletion and the constant physical exertion of making his way through a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns was taking a toll on him. Brelyna didn't look too good either. It seems that Savos' party had been suffering the same fate. Whenever they appeared, they had lost another member.

They ended up resting there a lot longer than they initially intended, both Marcus and Brelyna not feeling like getting up and continuing for a while. Marcus knew the situation at the College was getting more and more desperate with each passing minute, but he also knew they weren't helping anyone dead, so a quick rest was probably in order.

As they sat there, not talking, another burst of blue energy raced through the chamber, accompanied by the voice. Instead of asking questions and referring to Savos Aren, it seemed more… confident, like it had deduced them.

"You… you are not Aren… Has he sent you in his place?"

Both mages looked up. Brelyna shivered unconsciously, and scooted a little closer to Marcus, brushing up against his arm. Marcus didn't move, or mention it.

The voice spoke again, "Did he warn you that your own power would be your undoing...? That it would only serve to strengthen me?"

Marcus gulped, lines of worry beginning to etch themselves into his brow. He wondered if he'd be able to defeat something that Savos and several other mages weren't capable of defeating. He looked over at Brelyna, who glanced back quickly. Faint signs of fear were evident on her face. He flashed her a confident smile, and looked away.

Failure was not an option. Everyone back at the College was depending on them. If they couldn't defeat whatever was waiting for them, then Ancano would succeed, and Marcus had no doubt the world would change, for the worse, as a result. Plus… failure at this stage meant death, for both of them. Marcus had resigned himself to the concept multiple times in the past, but Brelyna…

Marcus looked down at her, resting against his arm. He couldn't let her die. He just… couldn't. The concept of watching her die was so horrible, keeping her safe was a mission of the same level of importance as getting the staff, in his mind. He simply refused to let that idea take place in his mind as possible. She would live, whatever it takes.

The rested for a while longer, before getting up and moving onward. Resting could only do so much, and the time factor was still important. They continued through, coming across a few more Draugr, and at one point even a troll. Eventually, they got to a large door, inlaid with various markings and pictures.

The ghosts appeared once more. Marcus had a feeling it would be the last time. There was only three left.

A girl, an elf, started sobbing. "We shouldn't have left her there to die!"

Savos said, "What else could we do? Stay there and die with her? She refused to go on, we didn't have a choice!"

The third man, a nord, sighed sadly. "This is it, you know… through this door. Can you feel it?"

The elf whimpered, "We're… we're not going to make it, are we?"

The nord straightned a bit, "We stay together, no matter what. Agreed?"

Savos nodded, "Agreed, we all stay together."

Then the ghosts disappeared, leaving Marcus and Brelyna alone. They glanced at each other, reading their sombre look in each other's eyes. Savos had still been alive, and the monster at the end of this was still alive, so they clearly didn't stick together. It seems Savos Aren wasn't the same person they thought he had been.

Brelyna twisted her hands with nervousness, looking at Marcus. "Do… do you think we'll get through this? Will we succeed where they failed?"

Marcus looked at the ground, closing his eyes and breathing out a sigh. He didn't know. He really did not know...

He moved his head up, and looked her straight in the eyes. "Yes, we will."

He took a step forward, when the voice rang out once more.

"Come… Face your end."

Brelyna gasped, and Marcus looked over at her. She was scared. He smiled encouragingly at her, walking over and taking her hand in his. Her face softened, and the hint of a content smile touching her lips. Her body language relaxed.

Then he walked forward, leading her, going through the door first. They emerged into a large cavern, with various stone walkways and platforms raised throughout. To the left was a large series of stairs and little towers, overlooking a platform to the right. In two of the towers, a strange pair of ghosts were casting a beam of energy at a figure on the right platform.

Marcus looked at the figure, and felt something stir within him. Like he should recognize it. Unusual. He kept walking forward, Brelyna beside him. He walked up to the right side platform, approaching the figure inside the energy dome carefully. It looked like one of the Lich things described in old stories. But Marcus knew better, the mask on its face was a giveaway. It was a Dragon priest, of legend. More importantly, in its hand, was the Staff of Magnus. There was no mistaking it, the design and power it radiated couldn't be misplaced.

Through the barrier, the priest stared back at them, it's facial features unreadable, but its demeanor clear. It was waiting for them to release it, and try to take it on. Marcus was terrified, but realized he needed to maintain a strong face for Brelyna. He walked away, and nodded toward the ghosty figures casting the beams of light.

"Take the one on the left," he told Brelyna, "I'll take the right. Once the barrier falls, hit it with everything you can, as fast as you can. Stick to the stone for cover."

"Ok..." she nodded, "promise me you'll get out of this in one piece..."

Marcus smiled sadly, "I… I'll do my best, Brelyna, that's all I can say."

She chewed her lip for a moment, clearly thinking hard about something. Marcus waited beside her, thinking she was coming up with a different plan or had something else to say. After a few seconds, a decisive look came across her face, and she skipped over to him quickly, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. It only lasted a fraction of a second, but it was enough to cause Marcus to freeze up.

"There," she said softly, "now I won't have any regrets..."

Then she quickly walked away, up to her tower. Marcus' mind fizzled a little bit, then started up again, and he quickly ran over to his own tower. As he reached it, Brelyna dissipated the other ghost, leaving only his.

Marcus thought perhaps about striking the ghost down, but it turns out as soon as he touched it, the ghost disappeared. As soon as the beam collapsed, the barrier fell, and the Dragon priest shrieked in triumph. It spread its arms wide, staff in hand, and reared to its full height, hovering half a metre above the ground. It emitted a shrieking laugh, and spoke with a loud, booming voice.

"Fools!" the voice shook Marcus to his bones, "I am Morokei, see me and despair!"

It then raised a hand toward the small tower Marcus was watching from, and a loud crack filled the cavern. Marcus' vision went white, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground below, surrounded by bits of stone. His body was covered in dozens of little burning sores, from where the lightning spell must have blasted bits of rock at him like shrapnel. Another crack filled the air, and Marcus looked up to see the second tower, the one with Brelyna, also crumble to pieces. Luckily, she must have got out of the way in time, as her body didn't fall to the ground along with the stone.

Marcus heaved a block of debris off his legs, and got to his feet as quickly as he could. He ran along the ground toward the stairs, seeing Morokei floating across the walkway connecting the two stone platforms. It looked down at Marcus as he ran, and held its hands out again. Anticipating the lightning bolt, Marcus rolled to the side as soon as the sparks built up in the priest's hand, but it didn't make a difference. The crash of thunder filled the cavern again, as the spell struck the ground near Marcus with a crackling explosion. He was knocked to the side, slamming into the foundation of the right side stone platform. His head knocked against the stone, and his vision went blurry and hazy.

Another series of lightning cracks filled the air, each one so loud it made Marcus' ears hurt, evident of Brelyna battling the priest. He forced himself to get to his feet, and keep running. He felt the cold trickle of blood down the side of his head, but did his best to ignore it. He half staggered, half ran up the stairs, and quickly climbed onto the platform where Morokei was.

He saw the Lich blasting a constant stream of sparks at Brelyna, who was backed up against a wall, casting a ward spell that was getting smaller with every second. Morokei seemed relaxed, or as relaxed as one of its kind could get, seemingly waiting for the dark elf's ward to break, so it could disintegrate her. Marcus pulled his sword out of its scabbard, and sprinted toward the back of the Dragon Priest. When he was a few metres away, the undead monster began to turn, sensing a presence. It out stretched an arm behind it, and sparks danced on its shriveled fingertips.

Marcus dropped to his knees in a powerslide, flattening himself to the floor. An extremely loud thunderclap rang out, and the bolt missed, yet the energy passing over his face was so potent it still burned the skin.

Marcus leaned back up just as the Lich was about to fire again. He swung a horizontal, left-to-right blow at the outstretched arm currently sparking with electricity. The sword struck Morokei's hand, slicing through a decent portion of it's palm, and batting it away just before it fired. Another thunderclap rang out, and the lightning bolt blasted the wall off to Marcus' right. Marcus slashed again, cutting across the undead's chest, and tearing a gash in its strange segmented robes.

Morokei raised his staff, and Marcus started to cast a ward with his off-hand, still in a somewhat crouched pose. The ward was about half size before a stream of blue-green lightning slammed against it. The force of the energy from the Staff of Magnus actually pushed him backward, his feet sliding comically against the dusty stone floor. His ward collapsed in a matter of seconds, with an explosion, and Marcus was flung back several metres. He tried to get up, but another blast from the staff struck him in the chest, and he was overcome with a mixture of fatigue and pain. He collapsed down on his back, coughing and shaking.

Morokei floated over, and raised a hand at Marcus, the tell-tale sparks flicking amongst its fingertips. Marcus felt exhausted, almost too tired to move. He tried to roll to the side, but Morokei's hand simply tracked him. In any event, the spell had impressive area damage, so moving wouldn't do too much. As the spell was about to be unleashed, a series of smaller lighting blasts filled the air. The Dragon Priest was struck in the back several times in quick succession. It floated to the side, revealing to Marcus the sight of Brelyna, back on her feet, her lightning staff in one hand and sparks in the other, launching as many bolts as she could.

The Dragon Priest raised a hand and fired a thunderbolt back at her, but Brelyna deftly rolled to the side, and got back up, continuing to fire the spells. As one bolt hit the Lich in the face, it momentarily faltered, staggering back slightly.

Morokei then raised a ward spell, larger and brighter than any Marcus had seen before back at the College, except maybe for Tolfdir's. The continued lightning bolts struck the wall of magic, and did nothing. Marcus got to his feet, and ran at Morokei while it was distracted. However, the Lich must have anticipated the move, because it instantly switched from a ward spell in its hand to a lightning spell, before outstretching both arms and firing the staff and the bolt at the two targets attacking it.

Brelyna caught a several full volleys of green energy bolts from the staff to her chest, the lightning curling around her body and zapping at bits of her arms, legs, and face. She crumpled down, her body and hair smoking. Marcus, with his sword in a two-handed grip, was caught unawares, and took a thunderbolt directly to the chest. The steel plating did very little, the energy transmitting directly into his torso, and rupturing flesh internally. Marcus went down, collapsing to the floor, and struggling to breathe.

Morokei glanced over at Brelyna, seeing her completely still, and decided to finish off Marcus first.

It floated over, raising the staff and pointing it at Marcus. He looked up, and knew that if he stayed here, death was moments away. However, in his current state, he simply couldn't move. The damage he'd sustained was too great. He needed to buy himself time. Marcus raked in a ragged breath, and shouted in the strongest voice he could muster.

"Feim!"

His body turned transparent, and the pain spasming through his body vanished. Instantly, Marcus was on his feet and sprinting away. He ran up a set of stairs and took cover behind a stone railing. He charged up all his remaining magicka into a healing spell, and released the energy as soon as the shout wore off. The magic healed some of the damage in his chest, but not all.

Next thing he knew the Lich was in front of him, floating up over the edge of the platform. Marcus got to his feet, and readied his sword, but the monster raised its staff quicker, and a blast of green lightning struck the weapon and turned it red-hot, forcing Marcus to drop it to the ground, his palm burning.

Morokei reached down and grabbed Marcus around the throat with its free hand, bringing him up to look it in the face. Marcus felt his windpipe being crushed, oxygen failing to reach his brain. Its rasping voice came out from behind the mask.

It growled, "Your soul is not worthy to speak their tongue..."

Marcus' vision clouded, going black at the edges. He could feel his brain shutting down. He could feel his limbs turn cold as death began to creep up on him. He summoned all the remaining breath in his lungs and spoke, but not in the common language.

In his near-death state, Marcus spoke in a more… personal tongue.

"Dii Sil Los Fin Ronit Nust..."

 _My soul is the same as theirs..._

Then, with the remaining strength in his body, Marcus reached down and ripped his dagger from its sheath on his hip. He stabbed it sideways through the space between Morokei's face and the mask, before grabbing a hold of the handle and blade with each hand, and pulling backwards with whatever might was left in his body, tearing the mask off of the Priest's face.

Marcus and Morokei's mask fell to the floor. Morokei screeched in pain and anger. It dropped the staff of Magnus and clutched its face with both hands, and staggered backward. It landed on the ground, its levitation failing, and its legs barely able to supports its own weight. Leaning against the railing for support, Morokei stared down at Marcus with uncontrollable hatred. Marcus didn't look back. He just reached out, grabbed a hold of the Staff that had rolled its way toward him, and pointed it at Morokei's face.

Then, with a flash and a crackle, Morokei fell to the ground, its body turning to ash.

* * *

Marcus awoke an unknown amount of time later, lying on the floor next to the remains of the Dragon Priest. He dragged himself upright, pain jolting through his body in unison with each pump of his weakened heart. He picked up his sword and dagger, using the Staff of Magnus as a bit of a walking stick. He knelt down beside Brelyna's body, his burned fingers pressing against her neck.

He detected a pulse. Faint and irregular, but there.

"Come on Brelyna..." he whispered, leaning down and kissing her forehead, "stay with me."

He reached down, and slung one of her arms over his shoulder, lifting her body up by the waist. Then Staff in one arm, and Brelyna half over his shoulder, half in the other arm, Marcus limped up the stone steps towards the doorway behind the stone platforms, stopping only to pick up Morokei's mask. He didn't really know why, his brain was pretty addled.

As Marcus made his way through a few doors, a Thalmor elf emerged from around one corner.

"So, you made it out of there alive," the elf said with a smug look, "Ancano was right, you are dangerous. I'm afraid I'll be taking that staff now, Ancano wants it safe. He also wants you dead."

Marcus spoke in a tired, gravelly voice. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

The elf laughed. "You fool, you don't stand a cha-"

A flash and a zap filled the room, and Marcus lowered the staff. He continued on, walking past the Elf's half-disintegrated remains. In a few minutes, he made it out a secret exit, into the cold Skyrim air. To his joy, he heard Brelyna have a small, involuntary gasp of air as soon as the cold air hit her skin.

Marcus smiled briefly, his skin aching from multiple burns, his armour charred, his hands scorched, and his face covered in his own blood.

That went better than he'd expected.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Pretty combat-heavy chapter, but you need a couple of them every once in a while. This chapter would've come out a bit sooner, but I was unconscious for 24 hours after seeing the Elder Scrolls 6 trailer, I'm afraid.**

 **This chapter is also the longest I've ever done. It's probably too long. I've been worrying about the length of the chapters. I'm not sure what word count I should lean toward. This chapter is nearly 12,000 words, while the previous chapter was a bit over 6000 words. Which length do you guys prefer more? If you don't have a preference, I'm probably just going to write however much it takes for me to achieve what I set out to, or what I have planned. If not, I might prioritize certain scenes or bits I want to show more than others. Be sure to let me know.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	20. Chapter 20

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 20 – Herald of a New Dawn

Marcus limped up the bridge at the end of Winterhold, toward the College. Every so often, a drop of blood fell from his armour onto the snow, the crimson colour blending in beautiful contrast to the pale white. He had Brelyna's left arm slung behind his neck, and was almost dragging her along by the waist. She was worse off than him, with much of her body badly burnt, and large sections of her robes were charred.

He'd healed her whenever he could on the trip back, sparing none of the restoration magic for himself. She was fading in an out of consciousness every minute, only able to slightly limp along beside Marcus. He didn't have the strength to carry Brelyna completely, so she knew she'd need to attempt walking a little bit, whenever she could.

Up ahead, they could tell something was wrong with the College. The entirety of the place was sealed behind a wall of energy, save for the first half of the bridge. Along the wider sections, were the rest of the College mages, gathered in groups, or lying on the ground injured. Colette and Onmund were taking care of them, running between the prone individuals with healing magic in their hands.

As soon as the group saw Marcus and Brelyna, those that were capable of doing so ran over. Tolfdir was at the front.

"Marcus! Thank goodness you – Oh my word… Colette!" Tolfdir's relieved expression turned to horror upon seeing the physical state of Marcus and Brelyna, calling out for the healing mage at once. Colette ran over, eyes wide with concern as she took in the full gravity of their health.

"In all my days..." she muttered, "how did you manage to get this badly hurt?"

"You should see the other guy..." Marcus said, attempting a chuckle but only managing a croak. Colette took Brelyna gently from Marcus' arms, and quickly hurried her over to the area with the rest of the injured mages. Marcus followed her, his weariness beginning to catch up on him.

He sat down, leaning against the wall of the bridge. Colette began to work on patching up and healing Brelyna. Onmund walked over to Marcus.

"Damn, you look like shit," the nord said to him.

"I feel like shit." Marcus replied, breathing out a heavy sigh, "what happened to the College?"

Tolfdir walked up to him, and knelt down beside. "Ancano's magic gets stronger with every passing minute. The magical barrier grew larger and larger, until it became clear we all had to fall back."

Marcus nodded in understanding, as Onmund began to cast some healing magic on him. Some of his wounds closed up, and the lightning burns began to fade. The relief and lessening of pain felt incredible, and Marcus visibly relaxed more. The magic stopped having an effect after a minute, however.

"Sorry I can't do more," Onmund said, shrugging, "Colette can only teach me so much, and I've been pretty spent all day..."

"It's fine," Marcus said, waving a hand at him, "you've done enough."

"I'll be the judge of that..." Colette said sternly, walking over to examine Marcus.

"Take care of Brelyna first," Marcus said adamantly, "she needs it more than me."

Colette said, "I have, she'll be unconscious for a while, but she's fine. It seems 'someone' poured the majority of their magicka reserve into keeping her healthy for the last day or so… Someone very unconcerned about their own health, it seems."

Marcus got the insinuation, and looked down at his feet, "Well… the term 'health' is subjective..."

"Hmm..." Colette frowned, and began to work her magic, literally. Soon, Marcus was feeling better, in a relative sense to how he previously was.

He brushed off some dust and ash on his knees, "How much time do you think we have until the situation becomes… irreversible?"

Tolfdir shook his head, "no way of knowing, but I'd rather not wait around to find out. If you're ready, let's go."

"He is not ready." Colette said indignantly, "Give me at least another hour..."

Marcus looked around him. "Probably best if you, me, and Mirabelle go in alone. Keep the others here in case the situation gets worse." He did a quick head count, and frowned. "Where is Mirabelle, by the way?"

Those within earshot exchanged solemn, sad glances. Marcus' heart began to turn cold, slowly, as fear began to grip it.

 _No…_ Marcus thought slowly, shaking his head slightly, _please don't tell me..._

Tolfdir breathed out a heavy breath, "She… she didn't make it." He reached forward and grasped Marcus' shoulder comfortingly. "When it became clear we we're going to have to fall back, she stayed behind and made sure we all got to safety..."

Marcus hung his head, and rested it between his knees, facing the ground. He hoped that way, no-one would see the tears that began to trickle down his cheeks. Another person he cared about, dead… another mentor who he'll never see again. Another life who cared about him, and he cared about too, in a way, was extinguished. It seems Mirabelle now had one more thing in common with his own mother…

Marcus wiped his face against his sleeves, staining his cheeks with wet ash. He felt horrible, like he wanted to curl into a corner and cry for an hour, or longer. He wanted some time alone, to grieve, but he knew that he wouldn't get the chance, not for a while. The only thing he could do now, was avenge her death, and make sure no-one else suffered the same fate. He set his jaw, and clenched his teeth. He looked up at Tolfdir, eyes hardened. "Mourning can come later, we need to end this. Now."

Then he stood up, and began walking up the bridge, not waiting for an answer from Tolfdir and not heeding the upset protests from Colette and Onmund. He took out the staff of Magnus in one hand, and drew his sword in the other. He muscles burned with pain whenever he moved, but it was slowly beginning to be dwarfed by the burning anger that had taken root in his heart. Ancano had destroyed too much of Marcus' life. Marcus was walking into that hall, and at the very least, he was making sure no-one left it.

Marcus walked up to the swirling wall of energy that surrounded the entire College. He turned the staff over in his hand. For such a key, pivotal item, necessary to the resolution of the entire situation, it wasn't as big, or as impressive as he was expecting. Sure, it was ornate, and had a definite aura, but that was it.

Regardless, Marcus held it up, pointing it one-handed at the wall of energy.

"Do you think it'll work?" asked Tolfdir behind him.

Marcus looked back, steel in his eyes, "It had better."

Then he fired the staff at the wall, the blue-green bolt of ethereal lightning arcing outward and striking the barrier. Nothing happened initially, and Marcus began to think perhaps he wasn't using the staff in the right way, when the barrier began to fade quickly away. Within a matter of seconds, it was gone.

Marcus sprinted inside, not saying anything further. Tolfdir followed him as fast as he could, somewhat wary of the almost enraged state Marcus was in. They burst through the main gate, and made straight for the Hall of the Elements. The College courtyard showed signs of degradation, no doubt due to the volatile magics that were swirling around the place. Trees had fallen over, and chunks of stone had fallen out of the walls and towers. Marcus shoulder-barged the Hall door open, and sprinted inside. As his eyes laid upon the robed figure of Ancano, he felt his grip on his weapons involuntarily tighten, and a bubbling, roaring rage fill his chest.

"ANCANO!" Marcus roared, stopping in the entrance to the circular hall. The single word reverberating throughout the room, issuing an inescapable challenge to the elf.

The elf looked up from the sparking energy he was casting at the Eye. His lips twisted into a sneer.

"You've come for me, have you? With your petty staff?" He snarled, "You don't think I don't know what you've been doing? You think I can't destroy you?!"

Marcus began walking toward Ancano, slowly, his body tensed. His sword was pointed down at his side, as was the staff. Energy was beginning to swirl at the top of the Staff, being so close to it's brother, the Eye. His movements were dangerously fluid, like a snake slowly approaching prey, it's body coiled to strike.

"Enough, Ancano..." Marcus growled, staring at him venomously. "You will die. Here, and now, with my blade slicing through your neck..."

Ancano stared back at him, unfazed. He sneered. "I have the power to unmake the **world** at my fingertips! You think you can do anything about it?!"

Tolfdir launched a fireball at Ancano, but it passed right through him and exploded on the far wall.

"Spells have no effect!"

Ancano laughed, a short, evil barking noise. "Ha! I am above your pathetic attempts at magic."

"The staff!" Tolfdir cried, "Use it on the -"

Tolfdir never got to finish his sentence, as Ancano blasted him with a bolt of green magic that paralyses the old man. His entire body turned rigid, and he toppled to the ground. Then, Ancano went right back to blasting the Eye.

"Enough, Ancano!" Marcus shouted, "Prove your race's supremacy! Face me!"

"You wish to die so much?!" Ancano shouted back, "very well then!"

The Eye released an explosion of energy, and began to… separate into pieces. The outer shell shifted and became a multitude of curved metal plates orbiting the bright blue insides of the Eye. Energy washed over Marcus, chasing away much of his magical fatigue. He sheathed his sword so he could use healing and ward spells in his right hand. The Staff in his left hand would suit any offensive capabilities, he hoped.

As the blue explosion passed through Ancano, he became wreathed in an aura of blue light. "Come then!" the elf screamed at Marcus, "See what I can do now!"

He followed this challenge up with a pair of large, orange and blue fireballs launched from his hands. Marcus rolled to the right, dodging the first fireball and brining up a ward with his right hand to block the second. He wasn't expecting the sheer force of the spell however, and thus hadn't given the ward enough time to charge up completely.

The fireball struck the magical shield and shattered it, knocking Marcus back a few metres with a now bruised and sore wrist. He quickly rolled to the side and took cover behind the small raised stone blocks around the central pool the Eye hovered above. Another fireball flew past him, going just overhead, close enough to singe a few of his hairs.

 _Focus,_ Marcus thought to himself, taking a deep, collected breath, _it's just another mage. You can do this._

Marcus slipped the Staff onto his back, and moved the ward magic to his left hand. He then moved to the left, getting to his feet and drawing his sword in his right hand in one motion. He took a quick breath of air, and shouted.

"Wuld!"

Ancano had limited knowledge of the Thu'um, so he wasn't expecting the sudden rush of speed. Marcus crossed the 20 metres between them in an instant. The shout propelled him within a metre of Ancano, slightly in front of and to Marcus' right of the elf. Marcus twisted his body to the left, so that Ancano was to his right, and slashed a backhand horizontal strike aiming for the neck.

The glass sword froze a centimetre from Ancano's neck. Marcus couldn't move it at all, in any direction. He couldn't even let go of the weapon, his entire hand was frozen in place. The blade began to quiver, almost vibrating, as the entire length began to glow red hot. Marcus looked at Ancano with a look of confusion and growing fear. Ancano looked back, a satisfied, evil grin spreading across his face.

"You never stood a chance." Ancano said, staring directly into Marcus' eyes.

Then the blade exploded with the force of ten fireballs. Pieces of malachite shrapnel from the blade dug into Marcus' chest, and the force of the explosion launched him backwards. His back slammed against a pillar, and he dropped to the ground, blood trickling down his arms and legs. Pain blazed throughout his whole body, a sensation that was rapidly becoming more and more regular. Marcus raked a shaky breath through his body, and deliberately began pulling himself back from the brink of unconsciousness that his mind so eagerly wanted to sink into.

Marcus raised a weak hand, and forced his stunned brain to channel a little healing magic through his body. It basically just sealed up the wounds, ensuring no more blood flowed out, but didn't actually heal anything. Beside him, lay the smoldering hilt of his glass sword. The blade was gone. Some of it was probably inside himself.

 _Damn it…_ Marcus thought tiredly in the back of his mind, _I liked that sword…_

Then, Marcus slowly staggered to his feet, bracing himself by grabbing hold of the pillar with both hands. Ancano looked infuriated by Marcus continued survival.

"What?!" he screamed, "How could you survive that?!"

"Stubborness," Marcus mumbled, looking at the elf with through bloodshot eyes.

Ancano's anger multiplied, and he promptly charged up a series of fireballs and launched them at the man. Marcus ducked in behind the pillar as fast as his body would allow, pressing his back up against the stone as the heat swelled on either side of him. Amidst the pulses of pain that repeatedly spiked in his mind, Marcus wracked his brain to think of some way to stop Ancano, or at least lower his power level to the point where he could be stopped.

Tolfdir's last words, before he got paralyzed, came to mind. He'd mentioned using the Staff. On the Eye perhaps? Marcus originally thought the only use for the Staff was to get through the barriers, and deal significant damage to targets. If it had a direct link to the Eye, perhaps it could somehow dampen the power Ancano was channeling through it?

Marcus had no clue whether this was an actual idea, or just something his over-stimulated brain was conjuring in an attempt to keep itself from shutting down. Either way, he didn't have another option.

An angry shout came from Ancano. It seemed the elf had gotten tired of blasting away at the back of the pillar with no effect. He stormed forward, sparks curling in his hands, and indignant fury blazing in his eyes. Marcus took another deep breath, nodding to himself slowly in order to gather up some last-minute courage.

He thought quietly, _Gods guide me…_

Then, he ducked out of cover, a ward spell already charging in front of him, cast from his right hand. In his left hand, he held the staff of Magnus. Ancano threw up his hands and blasted a non-stop stream of spikes toward Marcus, striking the centre of the ward. The sheer magical force pushed against Marcus' arm, but he pushed back. The magicka drain was astounding, so Marcus knew he didn't have much time. Maintaining the ward with one hand, Marcus held out the Staff of Magnus and pointed it directly at the Eye.

A steady stream of blue-green bolts flew out of the Staff and struck the Eye. Slowly, the separated plates of the outer Eye began to shift together. Marcus felt immense relief at the sight, but such relief was immediately dwarfed by the rapidly growing magicka headache in his mind. His body was like a conduit for pain, it seemed. Marcus' arm began to tremble, under the constant assault of Ancano's shock spell. The muscles began to burn, and simply holding the arm in place was a chore. Exhaustion began to flood into his mind, but Marcus deliberately staved if off by feeding himself mental images of Mirabelle, collapsed against the floor, twisting his anger to give him a bit more energy. The elf seemed to be biding his time, keeping a distance and using ranged spells. The Eye must have given him unlimited magicka, so such a tactic made sense.

Or at least, the Eye **had** given him unlimited magicka. With a loud 'clang' noise, the plates of the Eye interlocked together, and the bright light was suppressed and contained within.

As soon as the Eye was closed, Ancano staggered backwards, clutching his chest. He knew something was wrong. The elf quickly turned back to the Eye, and ran up to it, casting the same sparks spell. Nothing was happening immediately though.

Marcus limped forward, his heart soaring slightly at the knowledge he'd achieved a semblance of victory. Ancano looked back at him, the first traces of doubt creeping onto the pointy elven face. Marcus lips began to curl upwards into a smile, one with far too many teeth. Ancano took an involuntary step back, before frantically charging up more sparks and blue-orange fire in his hands.

His time was now. Marcus knew it was now or never. Ancano was on the back foot, for the first time. Marcus began running, his feet pounding against the stone floor. Pain raced through his body at every movement, but he just twisted it around and used it to fuel the ever-raging fiery anger within him. Anger that was completely and utterly directed towards the piece of shit right in front of him.

Ancano launched a rapid volley of destruction spells at Marcus, taking quick steps backward all the time. Marcus took a deep breath, ignoring the burning, acidic sensation in his throat, and shouted once more.

"Feim!"

The destruction spells flew through his body, sailing past and exploding in colourful displays behind him. Marcus kept sprinting, pumping his legs with as much strength as his broken, damaged body could muster. With the Staff in his left hand, Marcus slowly drew his glass dagger, the only bladed weapon he had left. The shout wore off when he was 5 metres from the elf. The elf launched another fireball at him, but this one was smaller, only the size of a melon. The magicka must finally be running out for the elf.

Marcus saw the ball of flame approaching, and knew dodging to the side wouldn't suffice. Instead, he gripped his weapons in both hands, and silently prayed his body had enough fight left in it to pull off what he was thinking.

He leapt forward, practically diving upward. The fireball passed underneath him, singing his legs and stomach, but otherwise avoiding him. Marcus arced through the air, before landing on the ground with a forward roll, coming up onto his knees, the staff pointed directly at Ancano. With a flash, the bolt of energy streaked from the tip of the Staff, and spasmed across Ancano's chest. The elf staggered backward, clutching the blackened spot on his chest.

Marcus kept his momentum going, not pausing for a moment. After he fired the Staff, he rose to his feet and began to spin to the right, bringing his glass dagger up. When he turned a full 360 degrees, he had his dagger in his right hand, stretched out in front of him, moving with incredible speed. Ancano's eyes widened, and Marcus' narrowed.

The blade slashed across Ancano's throat, his armoured robes doing nothing to protect his exposed neck. Blood sprayed from the open wound, as Ancano staggered backwards, shock visible on his body language and facial features. His gloved hand flew to his throat, clutching the bubbling, flowing gash that stretched across the skin. Blood swelled out from under his fingers, and Ancano collapsed to his knees. He gurgled slightly, trying to say something, but nothing but the wet sound of blood flow came out. He looked upwards at Marcus, his yellow eyes wide, and staring directly into Marcus' burning hazel.

Marcus looked back, face covered in flecks of blood. His expression revealed nothing but quiet satisfaction.

Then Ancano collapsed to the ground. A growing circle of blood spread out from him. He was dead.

A second later, Marcus heard a gasp from Tolfdir, and ran over to kneel beside the man.

"Tolfdir!" Marcus said quickly, "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, my boy," Tolfdir groaned, rubbing his eyes and taking a look at the man in front of him. "Divines Marcus! Where are you hurt?"

Marcus followed the man's gaze to his blood-splattered face, and shook his head, "It's ok, it's not my blood." He looked down at his chest, his armour dented from shrapnel, and the leather stained red. "Or at least, the blood on my face isn't mine..."

The old man shook his head wearily at Marcus' statement, and accepted the offered hand to help him get on his feet. He gave Marcus a brief touch of magic to help some of his wounds, before walking over to look at the Eye.

Marcus said, "What do we do now?"

Tolfdir looked worried. The Eye was still unleashing little bits of energy here and there, humming angrily like a swarm of bees were contained within.

"I don't know..." Tolfdir said, worry growing on his face. "Ancano is dead, but I don't think whatever he's done with the Eye has stopped."

Tolfdir turned to face Marcus, a worried frown on his face. "I have no idea what to do!"

Marcus was about to reply, when three upright ovals of light appeared in the room with them. He instinctively stepped in front of Tolfdir, dagger in hand. Out of these ovals, stepped three psijic monks. One of them, who Marcus recognized as Quaranir.

"We knew you would succeed." The monk said, a gladdened smile on his face.

Marcus spat a glob of clotted blood onto the floor, "You couldn't have shown up 10 minutes earlier?"

"I'm… I'm afraid not," Quaranir admitted, "but in truth, there was no need. You handled things better than we anticipated."

"Tell that to Mirabelle..." Marcus muttered darkly.

Quaranir looked at the ground. "We are… sorry, about that."

"Not as sorry as me."

Quaranir coughed quietly. "You victory here has justified out belief in you, in any event. You have proven yourself more than worthy to lead the College."

Quaranir looked back at the Eye. "However, the Eye has grown unstable. It cannot remain here, or else it might destroy both the College, and potentially the world."

"Then take it away," Marcus said, "Ancano proved that this world won't be ready for something of it's nature for quite some time. I think it's time you actually intervened."

Quaranir nodded, "Of that, we are in accord. You are free to live on and manage your lives as you see fit." He did a little bow. "You have our gratitude, Arch-mage."

Marcus slightly bowed back, inclining his head down. The three monks took their places around the Eye. They raised their arms upwards, and with a flash, all three of them, and the Eye, were gone.

Marcus breathed out a sigh, closing his eyes and filling his lungs with the first relaxed gulp of air he'd taken all week. He found that, all of a sudden, his legs weren't able to support his own weight. He slowly sank to his knees, panting slightly. Weariness and exhaustion filled his limbs. He rested his back against the edge of the blue pool in the centre of the Hall. Tolfdir walked over to him, and sank down beside him.

"I'm getting too old for this," the old man groaned.

"Oh yeah?" Marcus flashed a tired grin back at him, "did you go around averting the end of the world all the time in your youth?"

Tolfdir chuckled. They lapsed into a tired silence for a minute. The others outside were probably worrying about what happened, but each man figured they could wait for a while. They'd earned themselves a quick breather.

"I daresay the Psijics are right," Tolfdir said eventually, "I don't think there's anyone more deserving to be Arch-mage of the College, in my opinion."

"Really?" Marcus frowned, "I'm no master mage, Tolfdir. I barely know more than the average student here, and that's only because I've been forced into more dangerous situations."

Tolfdir replied, "The College has enough mages. It needs a leader. Someone willing and able to guide them to a better future. What I've seen since you got here indicates that." The old man smiled, "Besides, if what Faralda told me when you first showed up is true, about your own type of magicka, I think you'll become a very powerful wizard sooner than you think."

"Hmmm..." Marcus didn't know what to say, or think. He didn't feel like a leader. He knew less about magic than most people here. Plus, who was to say the other mages and wizards would feel happy under the leadership of someone half their age?

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Marcus asked, "I don't think I'll make a very good magical leader..."

"Well," Tolfdir smiled at him, "I know you will, so trust me." He reached into a pocket and procured a key. "Here, for the Arch-mages quarters. There should be a spare set of robes in there for you."

"Umm… Thank you." Marcus really didn't know what to say. He hoped this duty wouldn't come with too much responsibility, similar to his role as Harbinger of the Companions, but to be honest, he knew almost nothing about the role.

"Ok," Marcus closed his eyes and breathed out. "Firstly, I know very, very little about the role of Arch-mage. I think I'll need you as Master Wizard, Tolfdir, in order to help me out a little, at least initially. Will you be able to do that?"

Tolfdir smiled, "Of course, Marcus, I'd be glad to help."

"Thank you. Secondly, we should probably go tell the others what's happened. Do you think they'll… 'accept' me as their Arch-mage?"

Tolfdir stroked his chin. "Over the past few weeks, you've overseen the procurement of various magical books, artifacts, and have saved all our lives. I think they won't be able to find a reason not to."

Marcus breathed out a heavy sigh, before nodding tiredly. "Alright, let's go get this done before I pass out from combined exhaustion and blood loss."

* * *

Marcus was on top of the College, up amongst the speedy winds and swirling snow. It was the day after his battle with Ancano. All the other members of the College had been informed of his new status as their Arch-mage, and rather surprisingly for Marcus, they hadn't decided to debate it. Some of them grumbled a bit about his lack of magical expertise, but once Tolfdir recounted his achievements for them, they grudgingly admitted his worth. The only opinion that wasn't swayed by the old man's words was Marcus'. He still very much doubted himself. To think that only about a month ago, he'd been a regular student, was rather astounding.

Marcus breathed out a heavy sigh, his breath fogging thick in front of his face. He'd come up to the roof for a bit of fresh air, and maybe to enjoy the view. The snowfall turned out to be too heavy for him to see anything though. Marcus was basically just looking at a white canvas. The snow muffled almost all sounds. It was like Marcus was a million miles from anyone. He didn't mind too much. He just needed a bit of a break.

The repairs to the College were underway, with startling speed and efficiency. Tolfdir had proven to be an immense help, in more ways than one. The old man's master alteration magic was proving pretty damn handy in repairing walls and such. Marcus had also proposed the construction of a garden around behind the Hall of the Elements, on a sort of extended balcony, where they could host a small memorial service for Savos and Tolfdir in future. The other senior mages had agreed with the idea, saying it would be a good place for students to meditate in any event.

 _That reminds me,_ Marcus thought, stroking his chin, _I need to chat to Tolfdir about that 'transmute' book..._

Ancano got no such luxury of a burial. Marcus personally tossed the blood-soaked body off the bridge, to be food for wolves down below.

He heard feet tapping on stone behind him. He turned slowly, and smiled. Brelyna was there, smiling shyly back at him.

"Glad to see you up and about," Marcus said.

She walked over to him, "Saving my life is becoming a bit of a habit of yours."

Marcus flashed her a cheeky smile, "Well, I'll be sure to stop doing it so much, if it bothers you so."

Brelyna chuckled. She joined him at the edge of the roof, looking forward into the swirling vortex of snow.

"So..." she began, "Arch-mage huh? Who would've guessed?"

"Certainly not me." Marcus admitted, "I'm still of the opinion the decision to make me leader was a bit of a management oversight..."

Brelyna laughed, "You killed Ancano, stopped potentially the end of the world, and saved everyone's lives. I'd say you earned it."

Marcus sighed, and looked down at his hands, resting them on the stone barrier. "Not everyone, Brelyna… Not everyone."

Their moods turned solemn. They didn't say anything for a short while, a moment of respectful silence passed in memoriam of Mirabelle.

"How long will you be staying?" Brelyna asked eventually.

Marcus asked, "What do you mean?"

She looked sideways at him. "Arch-mage or no, you're still the Dragonborn. You've undoubtedly got some business of your own to take care of."

Marcus laughed to himself, a tired laugh. "Yeah… you're right. I've saved the world from magical devastation, but I've still got to save it from dragons..." He laughed more, the laugh layered with tones of wearied disbelief. "It just doesn't sound real, when you say it out loud… I have to go save the world..."

Brelyna looked at him with sympathy. "Well, if it's any consolation, I certainly believe in you."

Marcus stopped chuckling, and took a deep breath. He looked across at her, gratitude written on his features. "Thanks, Brelyna."

She nodded, a soft smile on her face. She turned back to face outward. "You still haven't answered my question, though."

Marcus sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Not too much longer, probably only about a week, maybe a bit longer. Once I know everything is taken care of, I'll need to head to Whiterun, and make sure the Companions haven't burnt Jorrvaskr to the ground while I've been gone."

A giggle escaped from Brelyna's lips. Marcus blinked. It was the first time he'd ever heard that type of sound come from her. He looked sideways, raising an eyebrow. She didn't notice his expression, or at least pretended not to.

"Well..." she said eventually, "don't be gone too long. We'll still need you around. I… I'll certainly miss you."

Marcus didn't really know what to say to that. He just nodded slowly. "I… know."

Brelyna nodded to herself, and spoke in a more resolved tone. "Well, I better get going. I had to actually sneak away from Colette to come see you. She doesn't want me out of bed just yet."

Before Marcus could say anything further, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, before quickly scooting off and heading back downstairs. Marcus stood there, the place where her lips touched tingling on his cheek. He turned back and looked out over the snow once more, thinking.

He wondered if his own life could be compared to that of a storybook, briefly, what with how much he got wrapped up into chaotic events. Then he realized that a storybook has to at least adhere to a semblance of normality, to make it understandable.

Real life didn't seem to follow that same rule.

* * *

Marcus sat on his rather large bed in the Arch-mage quarters. His armour lay across his lap. Eorland would not be very pleased, if he was here. The whole thing was in a pretty bad shape. The combined magical damages he'd sustained the previous week with both the battles in Labryinthian, and with Ancano.

The chestplate had been burnt countless times by fire and lightning, and most of the leather was scratched, charred, or simply not there. Marcus could poke his fingers through the bits of fur and leather in various places. The metal was roughly in one piece, because it was simply more durable, but most of the actual 'clothing' part of his armour was more or less destroyed.

Beside him, lay the Arch-mage robes he'd been given. Even when he wasn't wearing them, he could feel the magical prowess the exhumed. His training had gone much, much better while he was wearing the robes, simply because they increased his magicka so much, and helped it regenerate so fast. Marcus was almost too afraid of putting them on, in case he damaged them or something. Apparently, months of cumulative enchantments from various Arch-mages over the past 100 years had gone into it.

Still, Marcus couldn't held but think about the potential… modifications he could make to his armour with the use of the robes. If he lined them up, they were basically the same dimensions, with the robes perhaps a little smaller. In an ideal world, Marcus would have strong enough magical abilities to not need both armour of the enchanted robes, but that just wasn't going to happen. He knew he wasn't at that level, and probably wouldn't be for a very long time, even if what some of the other mages were saying about his magical 'purity' actually turned out to mean anything.

Marcus began planning out a little project. He didn't like the idea of… dissecting the magical robes, but if he could manage to 'merge' them with his armour, perhaps replacing the tarnished leather parts and furs on the inside, he'd no longer have to worry about whether to wear robes for magical assistance, or armour for physical protection. It'd resolve a problem, and provide him with some much needed versatility.

Marcus began to smile. He knew he shouldn't, he knew he should respect the state of the robes and ensure they didn't change at all for the next Arch-mage to follow him, but the advantages couldn't be denied, if he did manage to pull it off that is. Marcus pushed off the bed and headed off to find Sergius. His own enchanting skills were decent, and getting better with every day, but for something like this, he'd need to consult an expert. He just hoped the master enchanter wouldn't be too put off by the idea of reshaping the robes of an Arch-mage to fit together with a set of armour.

He'd also need to talk to Eorland, when he managed to get back to Whiterun, to see if the repairs conducted could be done on his armour with the added magical effects flowing through it. Marcus was pretty sure experienced smiths could work with magical equipment, so perhaps Eorland would be able to teach Marcus. In any event, Marcus also needed a new sword, so that was another thing he'd have to talk to the Master Smith about.

Marcus scratched the back of his head. There was a lot of things going on in his life at the moment. It was almost becoming too much for him to remember. He needed to start keeping a proper journal or something.

* * *

Marcus breathed in the smell of the Whiterun as he pushed open the main gate. Different cities certainly had their own smells, that was for sure. Whiterun smelt of farmland, while Winterhold smelt of thawing ice. He walked up the street, noticing how a few trees and bushes had gotten taller since he last saw them.

A high-pitched squeal emanated from to his right. "Marcus!"

The young man turned, to see Mila Valentina running toward him. She wrapped her arms around his leg, squealing with delight.

She cried out, "You've been gone for **years**! Me and Mummy wondered when you'd come back!"

Marcus frowned, "I really don't think it's been that long..."

The little girl frowned, "Well, it feels that way. Be sure to stop by the market and see Mummy! She talks about you a lot, so I think she'd like to see you!"

Marcus' frown grew more confused at that statement, but made a mental note to stop by when he got the chance. There was one thing he'd need to take care of first.

Marcus pushed open the door to Breezehome, peeking his head inside. The place looked like it was exactly when he left it. Warm, well-lit, and very homely. It also seemed a bit smaller than he remembered, but that was probably only because he had gotten used to the Arch-mage quarters.

Marcus stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and looked around. There wasn't anyone on the ground floor, and he briefly wondered whether Lydia and Illia were out, perhaps taking care of one of those odd jobs the Jarl had been giving them.

Then he heard movement above, and a pair of steel boots appeared coming down the stairs.

A familiar voice, one Marcus hadn't heard for a while, filled the room. "Illia? Did you get those apples like I -"

As soon as Lydia's face appeared below the stairs, and she saw Marcus, her eyes widened. Her mouth parted, slowly agape. Marcus rubbed his hands nervously, not knowing what to say.

In the end, he settled with: "Would you like me to go get those apples, instead?"

His somewhat stupid question broke the quick trance Lydia had fallen into, and she hurried down the remainder of the stairs and stormed up to Marcus. Her body language was… mixed, from what Marcus could tell. She seemed incredibly happy, relieved, angry, and frantic all at the same time.

She stopped a half-step from Marcus, and took a deep breath, shaking her head.

"I don't know whether to hug you, or slap you..."

"What?" Marcus blinked in surprise, "Why would you slap me?"

Lydia's smooth brow furrowed, "The **day** after I received a letter from you saying 'everything is fine' I received word that the College in Winterhold had been blown up! I later heard there had been gigantic magical monsters roaming the streets and magical walls sealing the College from the world! I sent a dozen worried letters up there, and I never even got confirmation they arrived. How do you think I felt?!"

"Umm..." Marcus' face went sort of blank, looking at the wild, angry nord woman in front of him. "I have a bit of an inclination..."

Lydia took a deep breath, her hands almost shaking. A moment later, she rushed forward and wrapped her hands around Marcus. When he was sure she wasn't about to tackle him or anything, he hugged her back.

"It's ok, Lydia," Marcus said apologetically, "everything's fine now. I sorted it all out."

She sighed, "Evidently. You've never been one to run away from trouble before it's finished being troubling."

"… Yeah..." Marcus decided that agreeing with her was probably the best course of action. She eventually released him.

Lydia said, "Now, I can never really trust the word of couriers, so can you tell me what really happened?"

Marcus nodded, and rubbed his jaw, thinking quickly. Then he went over and sat down in one of the chairs near the fire. He gestured to the one opposite. "You'll probably want to take a seat for this one. It's… quite the tale."

"Isn't it always..." Lydia rolled her eyes, and sat down.

* * *

 **Author's notes: Well, there you have it, College of Winterhold arc finished. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I don't think I've missed anything I wanted to cover. It turned out about a chapter longer than I expected, but I guess that doesn't matter too much.**

 **After this, I'm going to do something a bit different, I'll probably cover a bunch of little mini-stories next chapter. You know, certain things/encounters and conversations around Skyrim I want to include, but can't really make a whole proper chapter out of them. It'll be a bit more light-hearted.**

 **Also, this chapter sort of marks the end of the section of this story where Marcus is (relatively) weak. I'll stick include challenging fights and such in later chapters, but they won't be nearly as common. Fighting bandits and giants and other creatures is going to be pretty easy for Marcus, and as such I won't write full-on descriptions of all the combat scenes if I feel I don't need to. There'll be no more semi-serious injuries fighting a troll or a group of thugs. I feel like keeping Marcus in a sort of inexperienced state any longer would be more unrealistic than doing the contrary.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	21. Chapter 21

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 21 – A Growing Legend

The prison was cold. It was damp too, but that was mainly due to the coldness. Mould could be spotted on various walls, as well as the occasional trickle of water. It must have been raining outside. The smell of uncleaned bodies and various bodily fluids wafted through the circular jail. The lower levels ironically smelt better, given that hot air rises. All these factors combined to make the air rather thick, and it seemed to hang on the clothes of the prison's occupants.

The occupants were classed into two categories. Or perhaps three. There was the guards, in their red armour, patrolling regularly through the halls. There was the prisoners, in their makeshift rags and tattered clothing, in varying states of filth and dirtiness given the time each had spent there.

Then there was the third category, occupied by only one individual. He was a prisoner, but only in the loosest sense possible. Where the others wore tattered and grubby everyday clothes, he wore a strange set of armour, seemingly a mixture of silvery-steel metal, and robed cloth. He was sitting against a wall, in a cell with one other man, examining his gauntlets. His posture was very nonchalant, and he was in a much cleaner state than the other occupants.

This particular man had only been in the cell for a few hours, and thus he was still the talk of the prison, with a few other inmates watching him from adjacent cells and whispering to each other. The person whom the armored man shared the cell with hadn't said anything, mainly because he wasn't actually conscious.

The unconscious man was probably a drunk, thrown in the cell for causing too much ruckus the previous night, and stowed away here for a day or so to pay the bounty of his damages, and to sober up. His clothes were still dirty, but probably due to the events of the previous night, rather than from the prison.

The unconscious man then stirred, indicating he was finally emerging from his slumber. The armored man looked up, a half-curious look on his face. The drunken man sat up, rubbing gunk from his eyes. He blinked blearily over at the armored man.

"Who the hell are you?" he said in a slightly slurred, thick voice.

The armored man laughed, his voice sounding much younger. "Straight to the point, eh? That's probably for the best. I've no doubt speaking causes no small amount of pain for you."

The drunken man groaned, rubbing his forehead and wincing, "you got that right..."

The armored man smiled again, acting like this was just a regular meeting in the street. "My name is Marcus. I'm an… explorer, you could say."

The drunk man nodded dumbly, his head still pounding. "… Ok… I'm… **groan** My name is Irnskar. I'm a… housecarl."

Marcus frowned, "Bit of a decrepit state for a housecarl… though, the one I'm using for a reference might just be a finer example."

Irnskar shrugged, "It was my thane's birthday last night, I think. I can't remember what happened..."

Marcus nodded, glancing out the cell door. "You must've caused a bit of ruckus to get thrown in here. How long do you think you'll be down here?"

Irnskar groaned again as another wave of hangover pain hit him. "I… don't know. Probably only for a day. How long have I been here already?"

Marcus shrugged, "Don't know. You were here when I got chucked in a few hours ago."

Irnskar rubbed his eyes again, and got a good look at his fellow inmate. "You don't look like the usual rabble that would end up here."

Marcus chuckled, "I'm not. Situations out of my control put me here."

The nord frowned, "What do you mean?"

Marcus thought for a second, chewing his lip and thoughtfully rubbing his wrist. "To summarize, I intervened in a rather vocal event involving Thane Erikur's unwanted interest in a certain blonde female bard."

Irnskar said, "That doesn't sound like something that would get you thrown in jail."

"Well, not that, no. But I think it had something to do with how another man's prized ring ended up in my pocket this morning, and how someone knew exactly when to tip off the guards."

"Oh..." the gears in Irnskar's mind slowly clicked, making the connection. "Didn't the guards listen to you?"

Marcus shrugged, "I'm new in town. I'd be surprised if they'd be trusting of a new arrival." He scratched his thin with a thoughtful smile on his face. "It's funny. Couple this sordid event with the gruesome beheading I saw the second I stepped through the gate, I can't say that this has been my best welcome to a new city..." He scrolled through some memories, remembering his entrance to Skyrim. "Can't say it's been my worst, though…."

"Damn," Irnskar shook his head, "What are you going to do?"

Marcus stood up and walked over to the cell door. "I'm not too sure. Initially my hope was to simply talk it out with a guard, but I tried that the first hour I was here, and he threatened to execute me if I didn't shut up." He knelt down and examined the lock. "I was thinking I could perhaps use a spell to blast open the lock, or maybe even pick it, but I doubt I'd be able to fight through every guardsman between here and the main gate, especially not without my weapons."

Even in his delirious state, Irnskar could tell something was off about the man. He spoke about what would normally be an impossible task, as something not too unlikely. That said, he didn't want to be pegged as an accomplice should he actually decide to blast the lock off the door.

Irnskar warily said, "What are you planning on doing?"

"I'm not actually certain," Marcus admitted, "I suppose I could try to talk to a guard again, maybe straighten this whole business out, but I could potentially only end up in the same scenario as before."

Marcus walked away from the cell door, and paced the interior of the cell. Watching the young man go back and forth stirred up Irnskar's headache again. Marcus had his eyes fixed to the floor, thinking hard and considering possibilities. He'd been thrown into jail almost immediately, and hadn't even been given a chance to pay off a bounty. As such, he figured he'd probably be in here for at least a week.

His mind strayed to some of the things that he'd been hoping to achieve in Solitude, and the nearby area. He'd been warned about a Dragon near the southern mountains, and there was also a cluster of forsworn setting up camp a bit further north of the Reach than normal. What were the chances that either of those two forces would claim an innocent life while he was stuck here? If that eventuality happened, then the death would be on Marcus' head.

It was this thought that sealed the concept for him. He was going to get out of this jail. Within the hour, if he could help it. Marcus walked over and leant on the back wall of the cell. He was mulling over the decision to talk to a guard again, or try to break out. Timing his 'Whirlwind Sprint' and 'Become Ethereal' shouts might just be enough to get through the prison and outside onto the outer walls, if he was lucky.

As the decisions spun around in his head, he got distracted by a strange creaking noise. He was about to shift his weight off the wall, when his weight was suddenly shifted through it.

With a crack and a crunch, the section of wall that Marcus was leaning against crumbled down, and he fell backwards into a strange tunnel with a surprised yelp.

He hit the ground, and rolled backwards, flipping over and landing on his feet in a crouched pose, head quickly scanning the tunnel. Apart from a very stunned Irnskar, there was no-one in sight. Marcus stood up. Behind him, lay a long tunnel stretching into darkness. Presumably, it was some old section of what had been Solitude's sewers, or catacombs, or whichever variant this city had. Most cities, in his experience, had an underground section similar to what his eyes were currently showing him.

"Well..." Marcus said with raised eyebrows, "I think I just found a solution to my problem."

Irnskar found his voice at last. "You're insane."

Marcus looked back, raising an eyebrow at him, "Maybe. You want to come?"

Irnskar shook his head vigorously, face going pale. "I don't want to end up like Roggvir. I'll be staying right here."

Marcus chuckled, and crept down the tunnel. He knew he didn't have a whole lot of time until one of the guards passed by the cell and saw the gaping hole in the wall. He hurried along, a soft magical light glowing in his left hand. He came to a sort of fork, with a short path off to the right. Marcus looked down it, and saw a grate in the wall, right on top of a chest at could be seen on the other side. He slowly crept up to it, and looked through the grate.

The room looked like an armory, only more haphazard, with clothes and daggers as the majority. With a jolt, he realized that the room must be the prisoner belongings. He craned his neck and peered throughout the room, looking for his own belongings. After he couldn't see it, he only assumed that they were in the chest right in front of the grate.

 _That's really, really lucky,_ Marcus thought. That chest was the only place in the room he could actually reach without being inside the room itself.

He reached forward, sliding both arms through the bars, and began working away with some lockpicks. It was very hard going, given that he couldn't actually see the lock, and he only managed to sneak a few in with him, but the guardsmen hadn't really bothered to install a particularly strong lock onto this chest. Most prisoner belongings were just lying about, so they clearly weren't bothered about prisoners stealing back their stuff.

Marcus, after breaking two of his three lockpicks, managed to get the chest open, and from his awkward position, managed to withdraw his glass dagger, and the brand new glass sword he had smithed himself. He then stood up and quickly moved further down the tunnel. After coming across a few dead ends along multiple pathways, Marcus eventually made his way to the end of the tunnel, marked by a bright light.

As he emerged, he had to pull himself back, as the tunnel ended right above the Solitude docks, with nothing but a 30 metre drop into the water. Marcus looked back into the tunnel, hearing shouts of alarm drifting downward. He knew he wouldn't be able to return to Solitude for a while, and he'd probably need to do a few favors for some high-up people in order to gain his amnesty. He had a feeling whatever Erikur had had planted on him, or whatever the man had said to the guards, meant that solving this problem with the law wouldn't be simple.

Regardless, Marcus knew he could worry about that later. He looked out over the bay, seeing the distant land opposite Solitude an easy 2 kilometres away. Swimming would be a pain, but Marcus had been practicing. The new metal Eorland had managed to create from the Skyforge was light enough, as well. In any event, his armour was half robes at this point anyway.

With a small jump, Marcus dived off the rocky outcrop and dropped the 30 metres below, making sure his arms and body were in the right posture. It hurt like hell when he landed, but healing magic had already been charged in his hands by the time he resurfaced.

Then, not waiting for any onlooking guards to start shooting arrows, Marcus began swimming, pacing himself and ensuring he didn't run out of stamina halfway across.

* * *

Marcus looked out over the northern section of the Reach. He could see where the rocky mountainous terrain of Markarth Hold slowly morphed into the more spaced forestry of Solitude. It was pretty, but would be a bit better if the area he was currently in wasn't so damn cold. Briefly, he wondered if Sergius would be able to teach him a warmth enchantment…

"You ok?" came a voice from behind him.

Marcus turned, smiling back at Lydia. "Yeah, sorry. Got lost in thought."

She raised an eyebrow, "You do that a lot. Maybe you're going senile..."

Marcus shook his head, "You wish. Then I'd have to stay at Breezehome all day and do nothing but write memoirs and complain about neighbors. You'd never have to worry about me again."

Lydia sighed, looking at the sky wistfully and shaking her head in mock sadness, "it is but a dream..."

Marcus smiled, and walked forward. They were outside Harmugstahl, which he wasn't even going to try and pronounce. Urag had sent him here in order to retrieve the writings of an old Arch-mage of the College, back in the first era. Marcus hadn't been expecting it to be a simple fetch, and the name sounded similar to other nordic ruins. Thus, when he'd stopped by in Whiterun to spend the night in a bed instead of on a bedroll, Lydia had decided she was to come with him, seeing as such nordic ruins were always dangerous.

Marcus didn't really have too much say in the matter, to be honest. There wasn't much of a reason to refuse her help. Illia had decided to come along too, with an eagerness ill-fitting of a young girl to have when concerning creepy decrepit ruins.

She ran up now, her short hair blowing about in the wind. "I've had a bit of a look at the door to the crypt. It's got a pretty heavy-duty lock on it. I'm not sure how you intend to get it open."

Marcus walked past the young girl, smiling at her from the corners of his face as he passed. "Don't worry… I know the passphrase."

Illia frowned, not understanding. Lydia sighed, and said, "That man and his theatrics..."

Marcus walked up the door, and examined it for a moment. It was wooden, inlaid with strips of iron. Illia had been correct. It had a hefty lock on the other side, and probably a security bar or two. Luckily, the wood wasn't particularly new, nor was the stone around it. The place looked like a bit of a cross between a nordic ruin, and an old-fashioned fort.

He took a deep breath, and the valley was filled with the crackling thunder of Thu'um.

"Fus... Ro DAH!"

The door exploded inwards, bits of wood, iron and stone flying all over the place. Illia's eyes widened in amazement, while Lydia, who'd seen Marcus use the Thu'um a little more, didn't react in such awe. She rolled her eyes, instead.

Marcus noticed her expression. "I'm not doing it to look cool, you know," he pouted, "If you have a better idea on how to get a locked door open when the lock is on the **other** side, let me know."

Lydia frowned, and looked sideways at the ground, realizing Marcus had a point. He didn't speak further, and just walked into the ruin first. Illia watched him go.

She said, "He's really something special, isn't he?"

Lydia sighed, rubbing her forehead and nodding, "If by special, you mean, unusual, yes. He's the most unusual person in the world."

"That's the thing though," Illia said, "you can't even say that, not entirely. He's technically only half a person. That's part of what makes him so special, I guess"

Lydia chewed her lip, staring at the space Marcus had last been seen, before he walked through the door. "I… I think he's human in the ways that count. Don't go start treating him like some kind of demigod, or some kind of… entity."

"Oh!" Illia gasped, "Of course not, I only meant that he's… really unique, and amazing."

"Well," Lydia shrugged, "Keep it to yourself. The man has enough on his plate without worrying about his own humanity."

Illia nodded in affirmation, before following the housecarl through the door into the ruin. They couldn't see Marcus waiting for them, so they proceeded down a natural tunnel before hearing a shout of alarm, followed by another shout of exclamation.

Illia and Lydia burst into a run in unison, emerging into a chamber lit by braziers and candles. In the centre of the room, an unknown man was wrestling with a medium-sized frostbite spider that was climbing all over him. Marcus was running up to the man, in the act of drawing his sword. The unusual thing about the scene, was that the spider was… sparking.

It had little bolts of lightning running along its body, occasionally sparking and zapping something nearby, be it the adventurer below the spider, or just the dirt. The adventurer was in hysterics, screaming while trying to get away from the spider on top of him.

Marcus readied his sword, gripping it with two hands, and thrusted for the side of the spider. The blade sliced through two of its middle legs, and buried itself into the torso of the monster. It screeched and clicked its mandibles in pain, before Marcus pushed his blade in deeper, allowing the hunter to slide out from underneath it, in the opposite direction as to Marcus was pushing it.

The adventurer staggered backwards, panting heavily. Marcus pulled his sword out, and stabbed it into the head of the spider, finishing it off for good. He stood up straight and walked over to the stricken man, wiping the green blood off his blade.

Marcus said, "What the hell was with that spider?"

"I don't know," the man shook his head, "But this place is full of the fucking things. Every one I've come across has been enchanted, or something. I'm getting the hell out of here. Normally spiders make my skin crawl, but magic spiders? Yeuch!"

The man shivered, and jogged out of the room, passing the two women without pausing. Marcus walked over to the corpse of the spider, and knelt down to examine it. It seemed to have runes carved into its body.

Illia walked up behind him, leaning down and inspecting the dead creature. "I've never seen enchanting magic used like this..."

Marcus said, "Neither have I. Though, I suspect it's got something to do with those writings of Shalidor that are supposed to be here, but that doesn't explain how it's even able to keep itself unharmed from the magic..."

"I know," Illia murmured, "I'm thinking perhaps they've used ward magic? But how would it sustain itself? I wouldn't have thought frostbite spiders had any magicka reserves..."

"I best they've used a soul gem as a power source," Marcus mused, stroking his chin, "though, that'd make the effects only temporary..."

Lydia walked up behind the two and cleared her throat. "I think the more important question you should be asking, is who is behind this whole thing, and what threat they may continue to pose toward us."

"Ah," Marcus nodded meekly, "you're right. The magical analysis can come later. Let's keep going."

Lydia rolled her eyes. She had little to no magical aptitude, but sometimes that was necessary to keep Marcus, and the excitable Illia grounded in reality.

The small group moved further into the ruin, keeping close together, and checking their surroundings carefully. They came into another room, once that had a table near the far wall, with a dead spider on it. Marcus sheathed his sword and walked up to it. It had no visible wounds of any kind, and he wondered how it had died.

It had the same runes inlaid into the surface of its skin, all over its body.

"How do you think it died?" Illia asked, "I'm not seeing any wounds?"

Marcus shrugged, "Could just be a preliminary trial. You know, whoever is doing this mightn't have got the whole enchanted spider thingy right the first time."

Illia hummed in agreement, going over and inspecting the corpse. As soon as she reached out to touch it, and her fingers brushed it's body, the entire thing burst into flames.

"AH!" Illia cried, leaping backward and rubbing her singed hand against her side. Marcus instinctively ran over and grabbed her hand, applying healing magic before Illia herself got a chance to.

"Be more careful," Marcus said when she was healed, worry etched into his face, "We don't exactly know what's going on here, so try not to touch any more unknown variables."

Illia nodded quickly, anxious to not upset Marcus again.

They moved onward, not encountering any more of the weird spiders. They moved through a few more tunnels and chambers before coming across a strange room with 4 levers in the middle, and a passageway up ahead blocked by interlinked iron bars.

"Huh..." Marcus mumbled, walking up to the levers. He pulled one, and a single bar from up ahead clicked, and slowly sunk into the wall. He pulled the next lever, and another bar sunk into the wall.

"Oh, well this is easy," Marcus muttered, "Why would they even put this here if it was so easy to get past?"

He pulled the third lever, and then the second bar suddenly shot outward again, barring the way.

"Oh..." Marcus frowned. He pulled the fourth lever, then the third bar retracted, while the first shot outward again.

Lydia said, "I guess we'll actually have to think about this."

Illia asked, "Don't you have a shout to fix this? Maybe some kind of teleportation thing?"

Marcus laughed, "I wish. There might be a shout like that, but as of yet, I haven't heard of it."

"I thought you knew every Thu'um there was to know?" Illia frowned, "Didn't you say you were fluent in the Dragon tongue?"

Marcus sighed, "Only in a very basic sense. I don't know Dovahzul, nor do I know every Dragon shout. I only understand them if I see, hear, or read them. And even then, it's only an instinctual thing. I have to actually tap into the soul of a Dragon to truly understand the words."

"Oh, I see..." Illia nodded.

"It's not an easy thing, Illia," Marcus smiled at her, "I can understand Thu'um better than anyone, but considering it takes a decade for the average person to learn one word, that's not really saying much."

Briefly, Marcus thought back to his fight with Morokei, how he'd spoken in the Dragon tongue when he was close to death. He wondered if that was an indication that he was closer in reality to being draconic, rather than human. He shook his head and dispelled such thoughts. They wouldn't do him any good at the moment. He could ask Arngeir or Esbern later, if it was still bothering him.

Marcus then turned back to the levers, and started sporadically flipping them in no discernible order or pattern. First, third, fourth, first again, second. The process wasn't particularly thoughtful, but Marcus figured that a rapid series of random attempts would serve better than a measured series of calculated attempts. After 3 minutes, and despite the protests of both Lydia and Illia for him to try a different approach, he managed to get all the bars down.

"See," Marcus gestured to the open passageway in front of them, "there's method to my madness."

The two women returned a shared look of raised eyebrows at him. He sighed in mock despair, throwing his hands up at the ceiling, and walked onward.

They walked through the next several chambers, coming across a few spiders here and there. Despite the magical damage one would get if they got close, the spiders themselves weren't much stronger than regular frostbite spiders, which was pretty weak. Thus, between Illia's and Marcus' destruction spells, and Lydia's bow, the process was fairly simple.

Eventually, they came to a set of stairs going down, that overlooked a far room. Near the corner was a large cell, filled with spiders. In front of the cell, facing away from Marcus and the others, was a man. An elf, from what Marcus could tell, with his height and stature. He wore black robes, and stood looking at the spiders crawling around in the cell, while making notes in a small notebook.

Illia whispered, "He must be the one who's creating these spiders. How are we going to play this?"

Marcus didn't hesitate, "Lydia, get your bow ready. Illia, try and cast some of those larger ice spike spells. Aim for center mass. After the first volley, I'll get in close and finish the job, if need be."

Lydia frowned, and grabbed Marcus' shoulder before he had a chance to move away. "Wait, we're just going to kill him? Shouldn't we just maybe ask him some questions, or see if he's willing to stop the experiment? He mightn't know the full effect of what he's doing?"

Marcus shook his head firmly. "If we hadn't shown up, those spiders would've killed that adventurer. Whoever conducts these sorts of experiments and doesn't take action to stop said situations happening, isn't someone of virtue."

Illia looked worried, "Does that mean we have to kill him though?"

Marcus glanced in the direction of the elven mage, then back at the two ladies. "He's obviously a skilled mage. I'm not taking chances. He dies, here and now. The only other outcome would be our own deaths instead. I'm not about to let that happen, and I'm hoping you wouldn't either."

With those words, Marcus pried Lydia's hand off his shoulder, and slowly slinked down into the room. Illia and Lydia exchanged concerned, but resolved glances. The elven mage walked away from the cell, and leaned over a table near it, clearly examining some kind of book.

Illia charged up two ice spikes in her hands, while Lydia nocked a steel arrow to her bow. Both aimed at the chest of the Elven mage. With a nod to each other, they fired in unison, Lydia's arrow and one of Illia's ice spikes striking the unarmored back of the elf. He cried out in pain, staggering forward and bracing himself against the table. A moment later, from another, closer set of shadows, a bright black and blue lightning bolt streaked outward, and hit the elven mage. He flew backwards, his mortally-wounded body smacking against the stone wall. The mage crumpled to the ground, badly hurt but still alive. In an instant, Marcus was sprinting over. He turned the elf onto his back, and quickly stabbed him in chest, right through the heart.

It was a brutal, but very efficient death. Marcus stood up, and breathed a sigh of relief, before going over and examining the table that the mage was looking at. Lydia and Illia both felt somewhat… discontent with how easily, and decidedly they'd killed the man. They both knew it was for the best, but only just.

"Aha," Marcus muttered, picking up the book the mage had been looking at, and showing to the two women as they walked into the room. "These are the writings we need. It seems this elf here, in order to create his magical spiders, had taken a leaf from Shalidor's book."

His attempt at a pun went un-noticed, and they both walked up and looked in the cell.

Illia asked, "What about these spiders?"

Marcus looked over, and shrugged, "Just leave them where they are. Without food, they'll die in about a week or so, I'd assume."

"Ok," she nodded, and took a deep breath. "Now that we've got what we came for, can we get out of here? I'm craving some fresh air."

"I second that," Lydia affirmed.

"Agreed..." Marcus murmered, his eyes scanning through the contents of Shalidor's writings. It seems the elven mage had made several notes and translations where applicable. He didn't know if that would please Urag or not, but it certainly made it easier for Marcus to understand. He'd have to make sure he had a good read on the way back to the College.

They made their way out of the ruins, and emerged into the gradually fading daylight in the Reach. Marcus stretched, and breathed in a lungful of fresh air.

"It's getting late," Lydia said, "We should probably head to a nearby town for the night. I think Dragon Bridge is the closest."

"Uh..." Marcus wringed his hands and looked sheepish, "That might not be the best idea, with me in tow..."

Lydia frowned suspiciously at Marcus, "What are you talking about?"

Marcus chewed his lip, looking guilty. "Well… at the moment, I'm kind of 'wanted' in Solitude hold." Lydia's face lit up with horror and incredulity.

"It's ok!" Marcus said quickly, holding up his hands in an attempt to stem the tide of angry comments about to burst from the pretty woman. Illia looked quite surprised too. "I used an invisibility potion and spoke to the Jarl's steward while he was alone. He sent me to go clear out a cave near Dragon Bridge to clear my name, which I have since done."

"Then why are you still wanted?" Lydia asked, her smooth brow furrowing with frown lines.

"Well, I… uh, I haven't actually gone back and told him that I've done it, yet." Marcus looked at the ground.

"What?!" Illia chose now to speak, "You mean you went and cleared out a cave of goodness knows what, then decided instead of clearing your name in the capitol of Skyrim, you'd go delving into another ruin in search of a stupid book?!"

"Umm..." Marcus began to realize how badly he'd planned out the last couple of days. "I should probably get myself a journal, or something, shouldn't I?"

Both girl groaned simultaneously, rubbing their faces with their hands. Then they started walking.

Lydia said, "We better get moving, anyway, if we want to get to Rorikstead before sundown."

Marcus scooted along after them, eager to break the conversation away from his legal situations.

Illia asked, "Why were you even wanted in Solitude, after all?"

"I pissed off a wealthy thane."

"How?"

Marcus replied evenly, "He was making… 'unwanted' advances towards a young woman. I used an illusion spell to make him run away in fear. I don't think he was rather pleased with me afterwards."

Both women raised their eyebrows at this, and looked at each other in surprise. It seems Marcus hadn't been as bad as they thought.

The party continued in silence, each one occupying themselves with their thoughts. Bereavement aside, Marcus did enjoy traveling with friends.

* * *

"Just do it, Colette."

The woman looked upset, "It's inhuman, Marcus. It goes against everything I set out to achieve when I became a healer."

Marcus sighed in frustration, "I'm not asking you to kill me, Colette. It's won't even hurt me. At most, it's like a really strange version of euthanasia that may or may not actually happen, far in the future."

Marcus, Colette and Sergius were in the Arch-mage quarters. Marcus was sitting on his bed, with the healer mage and enchanter near him. The young man had his shirt off, and Sergius was in the process of tattooing a large rune across his left shoulder, and upper chest. It centered on the left side of Marcus' chest, tracing intricate circular patterns right where his heart was.

"That doesn't exactly make it sound any better," Colette said, "I really must protest."

Marcus sighed, then gritted his teeth as Sergius' needle dug in deeper than normal. Colette looked over at the master enchanter. "Why did you agree to do this? Don't you know what it means?"

Sergius looked up from his work. "Marcus told me the details, he told me why this was important. I believe he has the right to decide what he does with his own body, correct? Besides, he does get into very dangerous situations. This'll simply add a bit of a 'contingency' plan."

Colette looked unconvinced. "I really wish you hadn't found that book. Shalidor was a very skilled mage, but that doesn't mean everything he devised should be used..."

Marcus shook his head, "I had this sort of plan in my mind before I discovered Shalidor's writings. In any event, the old guy never managed to fully perfect the process. It took me 2 weeks of constant study to actually understand how to apply the magic."

Colette shook her head, "I'm still not doing it. It's the same as giving yourself a giant 'kill' button."

Marcus sighed, and put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his legs.

Sergius walked out from behind him. "There, the last touches have been done. It's up to Colette now."

Colette frowned, "Does Brelyna know you're doing this? Do your parents know?"

"No-one is going to tell Brelyna." Marcus said firmly, "And my parents are… irrelevant, at this point."

Collete looked down at her feet, wrestling with her morals.

Marcus looked up at the healer with sympathy in his eyes. "Colette. Do you know about the prophecy regarding me?"

The look in Colette's eyes said that she didn't.

Marcus continued, "I'm supposed to kill **Alduin** , Colette. The firstborn Dragon of Akatosh. The nordic God of destruction."

Colette couldn't meet Marcus' gaze.

He said, "Now, I'm not sure what's going to happen between now, and whenever I finally face him. But when I do, it's probably going to decide the fate of the world. If I can't defeat him through conventional means, I'm going to need something 'unconventional' instead. Hence, why I need you to do this." He rubbed his jaw. "If I do need it, and use it, it will kill me. I understand that."

He stood up, and walked over to the older woman, and raised her head to look him in the eyes.

"But at the same time, if I'm in a situation where I do need to use it, but can't, I'll still die. Except, if I die, so does everyone on Nirn, theoretically."

Colette breathed out a sigh of defeat. She nodded slowly, eyes closed. "Ok… I'll do it."

Marcus smiled and walked back over to sit on the bed, "It'll only take a second. You're just linking my life force to the magic in the rune. That's all."

Colette opened her eyes, and looked at him. "You do realize… that if I do this… it means you're accepting that your fight with Alduin will almost certainly kill you, one way or another."

Marcus closed his eyes, and nodded, a sombre smile on his face.

"I know."

* * *

 **Author's notes: Bit of a different chapter. Basically a bunch of shorter, mini-chapters. They're still in chronological order, though it probably wouldn't matter if they weren't. The story is now over 20 chapters. I'm probably planning for it to have around 40-50 by the time I'm finished, or have finished all the things I've got planned out. I'm also wondering what the general consensus on the story's quality is. I feel like I should be getting a better reading of everyone's criticism, now that the story is getting surprisingly popular. Do you all think it's still as good as it was back in chapter 3?**

 **What parts of the story would you like me to focus on more? The combat? Character interactions? Should I be doubling down on the romance with certain individuals, or keep it mostly low-key? Do you all want me to cover the inner thoughts and conflicts of Marcus in a more direct fashion, or a more subtle, hinting fashion? Are there any NPC's you want me to include in future? I've got ideas for most companions and a few neglected female NPC's, but that's it for the most part.**

 **I'd appreciate any feedback. I still don't really know what I'm doing here. Many of the content and ideas in these chapters are conceived and written in the week, so I'm not going to pretend I've planned everything out. Just the general concept, and the general end-game theme for Marcus.**


	22. Chapter 22

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 22 – An Older Prodigy

Marcus looked out over the fields of Rorikstead, taking in the landscape. The evening sun had almost dipped below the horizon, blanketing the sky around it in an orange, vibrant colour. A soft breeze flowing across the plains blew past his face, ruffling his brown hair. The area looked nice. It was rather close to the Reach, but still retained the aesthetic of Whiterun Hold. There were a lot of farms around, growing an assortment of crops. Marcus hadn't noticed on his last visit here, with Illia and Lydia, but it seemed to be close to harvest time, which was strange, given the season. Either Rorikstead harvested their crops later then everyone else, which didn't make sense, or their crops grew twice as fast, which also didn't make sense.

Regardless, Marcus had bigger things to concern himself with than crop cycles. He needed to find a place to sleep before his legs gave out from underneath himself. He made his way toward the town, his eyes alighting upon the largest building there, the inn.

Marcus walked up the steps, the third one from the bottom was still creaky. He'd noticed the last time he was here. He pushed open the door, a creak filling the air, and stepped into the warm insides of the building. There weren't many other patrons in the inn, probably just residents of Rorikstead getting dinner. Some of them looked up in mild curiosity as Marcus walked in, but looked back down at their plates quickly enough. Visitors and travelers were a fairly common sight in this part of Skyrim.

Marcus walked up to the counter, his feet feeling heavier by the second. The innkeeper looked up from a mug he was cleaning.

"What can I do for you?"

Marcus breathed out heavily, leaning against the counter. "A room for the night, please, and some food."

The man nodded, "Will do. You can have the room on the right there, closest to the barrels. The wife's made a good stew for tonight, but we do have other dried food, if you would prefer that?"

Marcus shook his head, "The stew will be fine. I'll have it in an hour." He handed over a pouch of coins containing more than enough to cover it all, then walked over to the room before the innkeeper had a chance to count out his change.

Marcus closed the door behind him, and flopped onto the furs of the bed. He would've liked nothing more than to simply close his eyes and fall asleep, but he knew he really should eat something. Instead, he took off his gauntlets and splashed a little water on his face from his water-skin, before taking out a leather-bound book. This particular book was a new addition to his inventory, at the stern insistence of Lydia. He opened it up, and put a little cross beside a particular entry. One less group of bandits harassing the surrounding area.

At the top of the page, in larger handwriting, Marcus had written to go see the greybeards about the shout used to defeat Alduin. In an attempt to push himself into doing it, Marcus had written in large letters, thinking that would serve to allay the fears associated with the task. It hadn't. Every time Marcus learnt more about the Dragon situation, his position in the world grew more and more prominent, while simultaneously getting less and less… survivable.

Marcus sighed, and snapped the book closed. He laid back on the bed, the metal on his boots making soft 'ting' noises as he absent-mindedly tapped them on the floor. He rested for about 45 minutes, before he heaved himself off the bed and made his way into the main room.

He collected some food, and sat himself down at a corner table, staring down at his plate, a tired expression on his face. There was movement beside him, and Marcus instantly tensed up, head snapping to the source. It was just another man, around Marcus' age, scooting up beside him. He had reddish hair, and wore simple farmhand clothes.

Marcus raised an eyebrow at the guy, waiting for him to say something. The young man just smiled, somewhat nervously, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"You look like you've seen your share of adventure," he said, looking Marcus up and down,.

Marcus chuckled, "What was it that gave it away? The bloodshot eyes, armour stained with the blood of more than one person, or the general 'beaten-down' look?"

"Well..." the man shrugged, "I'm not sure… you just give off that vibe."

"I'm not surprised," Marcus said "I've seen my share of adventure, and then the share of about a dozen others."

The young man chewed his lip, "I envy you that. My name is Erik, and I was wondering if you can help me with something."

Marcus took a swig from a cup of water. "Maybe. What is it that you need?"

"I want to be an adventurer like you, but my father says I can't. He says that he needs me to stay here and work the farm, and even if he did let me be an adventurer, we couldn't afford to buy the armour that he'd insist on me having. His name's Mralki, and he's the inkeeper. I was thinking you might be able to change his mind."

Marcus looked down at his food for a few seconds, then looked up. "Your father is probably right, you know. Being an adventurer isn't non-stop glory and excitement. It rarely contains any of that. I've seen more than enough dead ones to drive home the risks."

Erik was adamant, "If it was so dangerous, how come you're still here?"

Marcus shrugged, "I'm a bit of an exception."

 _The likes of which you've never seen…_ Marcus added in thought.

"Even so," Erik continued, "I don't want to spend the rest of my days trapped here. I want to see the world a bit, I want to experience a real life."

Marcus sighed, rubbing his face. "Alright, I'll talk to him in the morning, when I don't look so disheveled and thus my appearance won't argue the contrary to what you want."

Erik nodded in appreciation, a grateful smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, friend."

"Don't thank me yet," Marcus mumbled into his cup.

* * *

The following morning, Marcus spent a bit of time cleaning both his armour and himself, to the best of his ability. He walked out of his room and made his way to the counter, where Mralki was reading a ledger.

"Hey," Marcus said, "I was hoping I could talk to you about something. About your son, Erik."

Mralki frowned, "Why? What about him? Has something happened to him?"

Marcus shook his head, "No, it's just that… he wants to live a life outside of this town. I think you should let him choose the life he wants."

Mralki's features immediately hardened, "No. I won't let him throw his life away chasing an illusion, only to get himself killed. Erik has no idea what he's getting himself into."

"And you do?" Marcus asked, "Have you ever experienced the life you so desperately want him to avoid?"  
The older man bristled with anger, "I saw you come in here last night, weary and clearly recovering from wounds. I don't want him putting himself in such dangerous harm's way."

Marcus sighed, "Yeah, I looked like that because that same day I had wiped out a fort filled with bandits, and had run halfway across Skyrim to do it. I'm pretty sure Erik wouldn't start off doing those sorts of things."

Mralki shook his head, and looked away, attempting to indicate the conversation was over, "He was no money for armour anyway, and I can't afford to spare it."

Marcus chewed his lip, thinking a few things over. "I can help with that," he said, "let me take him to Whiterun, and I can give him a set of good-quality armour, probably better than anything you could get from here."

"Why would you do that?" Mralki asked suspicious.

Marcus didn't answer straight away, he stared at the ground for a few seconds. Then he looked up and shrugged. "People should be given a chance to live the way they want. No-one should be forced into a life they never chose."

"Yeah well," Mralki looked down bitterly, "That's the way we would all like it to turn out, but not all of us get the life we want."

"I know," Marcus replied, in a lower voice tone. "I know that too well… But that only means that when we have the chance to change that, we should."

Mralki sighed. He held his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the counter. After a moment, he looked up, nodding. "Ok. Take him to Whiterun. Do your best to give him the life I never could."

Marcus nodded, "I'll do my best."

Marcus was about to turn away, and head outside to see Erik, when Mralki grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The old man looked Marcus directly in the eyes.

He said, "Take care of my son, you hear? He's all I've got left."

Marcus looked back into the older man's eyes. They were scared. Desperate, almost. He nodded, then turned and walked out.

* * *

"Whiterun looks… brighter," Erik mused, "I haven't been here for about a year. Everything seems more colourful."

Marcus said, "Probably just some new vegetation people have planted. See the flowers?" Marcus pointed at some of the garden beds installed out the front of houses.

"Ah, yes," Erik nodded, looking at the buildings and their furnishings.

"How come you haven't been here in a year?" Marcus asked, "I would've thought you'd make plenty of trips to get sell produce or buy farming gear?"

"No..." Erik shook his head somewhat wistfully, "Father always did that. Ever since Ma passed, he's wanted me to stay home."

"Hmm..." murmured Marcus, looking over at Erik quietly. "How old are you?"

"22," Erik replied, looking back at Marcus with a simple look, "I turn 23 in a few months."

 _He's older than me…_ Marcus realized, surprised. He looked at the man again. He sure didn't seem older than Marcus. His almost naive, desperate-to-explore attitude made him seem so much younger than Marcus.

Once again, Marcus was reminded just how young he was. His age just didn't seem to factor into his life at this point, yet if he told someone he was only 21, nearly 22, they probably wouldn't believe him. The 'Dragonborn' didn't seem like a really young man, even to Marcus.

"So," Erik said happily, "where are we going to get my armour from?"

Marcus replied, "Eorland Gray-mane."

Erik stopped walking, stunned. "Are you serious?" he breathed, "But that's… his smithing is legendary! I couldn't possibly afford anything of his!"

" **You** can't," Marcus said plainly, " **I** can."

"But..." Erik's expression changed to one of upset, "I can't have you pay for something like that..."

"Well," Marcus said with a half smile at the young/older man, "You don't actually have a choice. I'd rather not have you return to your father as a corpse, so I'm going to get you some decent equipment."

Erik didn't have anything to say to that. He just fell into step behind Marcus, and kept walking. After another minute, they came to Eorland's forge. Erik inhaled deeply in wonder at the impressive carvings around the Skyforge. Marcus left him admiring it, and walked up to Eorland, who was busy examining a piece of metal.

"Marcus," the smith nodded, "What can I do for you today? Have you come across another piece of metal you want attached to your armour?"

"Not quite," Marcus smiled, "I have a friend here, I was hoping you could give him a decent set of gear, so he won't get torn up in the first fight he enters."

Eorland stood up straighter, and looked over at Erik, a thoughtful frown on his face. He whispered to Marcus. "The man doesn't look like much of a fighter."

"He's not," Marcus answered, "But you let me worry about that. Just make sure he's isn't going to fall down with one sword swipe."

Eorland nodded, and walked over to Erik. The farmhand saw the master-smith walking over to him, and immediately straightened up and began to bow.

"Don't bow to me, boy!" Eorland said in a loud, gruff voice. "I'm no Jarl like Balgruuf, nor am I some God-son like young Marcus here. A handshake will do."

Erik straightened up, and looked in confusion at Marcus in response to Eorland's words, before getting his hand crushed in a vice-grip from Eorland. The old man's hands were still strong after a lifetime of heavy work.

"Gah..." gasped Erik, once his hand was released, rubbing it quickly.

"So," Eorland said, "What time of armour are you thinking of, boy?"

"I…" Erik's face twisted into uncertainty, "I'm not sure..."

Marcus chose now to speak, "He hasn't had much training. I'm thinking light armour, for the moment."

Eorland nodded, "Hmm… I agree. I'll get him set up with some scaled armour. I'll have it ready by tomorrow."

"Much appreciated," Marcus nodded. He walked up and handed Eorland a large purse of coins, before walking away and gesturing for Erik to follow.

"Um…" Erik looked somewhat unsure of himself, "As soon as I am able, I'll pay you back for this."

Marcus sighed, and shrugged, "I wouldn't worry about it. It's not that expensive, really." Marcus felt it was appropriate to not mention his very large personal wealth. It might only serve to alienate the man.

"Hmm," Erik mused, before remembering something. "Hey, what did Eorland mean when he referred to you as God-son?"

Marcus chewed his lip, and thought for a moment. The young man would find out soon enough, Marcus figured, given what he had in mind.

"Well," Marcus began, "there isn't really any 'easy' way to say this… I'm the Dragonborn."

Marcus looked over at Erik warily, anticipating his reaction. The man just stared back, a funny frown on his face. After a while, Erik simply replied.

"No you're not..."

Marcus blinked. That reaction was new.

"Um…" Marcus scratched his head, "I… I'm quite sure I am..."

Erik shook his head, confused, "But I heard the Dragonborn was a giant of a man… 6 and a half feet tall, and carries around a gigantic greatsword..."

Marcus blinked again, he hadn't heard the same rumor, but he hadn't really spent a whole lot of time talking to farmers of other Common folk.

"Well," Marcus said, "I can prove it, I guess. Follow me, I was going to take you later on, but now is just as good."

Marcus then lead Erik to the outside of Jorrvaskr, and took him around the back. In the training yard, there was Vilkas, Aela, and Ria all training by themselves. Vilkas turned to see Marcus walking through the yard, and called out to the others.

"Well now..." he said, leaning on his sword, "Look who it is."

Marcus walked up to him and grasped him in a firm handshake. "Good to see you, Vilkas."

Vilkas smiled at him, "Got tired of killing Dragons have you? Decided to give us a visit?"

Behind the two warriors, Erik gasped in shock.

Marcus smiled at the sound of Erik's realization, then nodded to Vilkas. "Nah, I haven't even fought one for a while. I came here for a more… humanitarian purpose."

"Really?" Ria said, walking up beside them, "Why the hell would you come here for something humanitarian?"

Marcus chuckled, and shrugged, "It's only humanitarian in a loose sense." He turned to Erik, "Come forward and introduce yourself to your new mentors."

Erik gulped, and walked forward, nervous. He went to bow, but stopped himself. Vilkas raised an eyebrow at Marcus, who read the look and decided to explain.

"You don't need to make him a Companion or anything," Marcus said, "Just teach him a few things, and let him stay here for a day or so. I assume there's still a spare bed or two in the new blood area?"

Vilkas nodded, then turned to Erik, who stepped forward and nervously introduced himself. "I'm Erik," he said, "Um… honored to meet you."

Vilkas looked Erik up and down, then frowned. "There's a fine line between respect, and boot-licking, Erik. Consider that your first lesson."

Marcus smiled, and walked away to watch the proceedings from the undercover section. He remembered when Skjor had said basically the same thing to him, a lifetime ago. He sat down in a chair, and watched Vilkas hand Erik a practice sword, and partner him up with Ria for a bit of half-sparring, half-instruction while he watched and made comments.

Aela walked up and sat down in one of the chairs next to Marcus. He looked over at her, and smiled.

"How have you been, Aela?"

She smiled briefly, "Not bad. It's been a bit… quiet."

Marcus nodded in understanding. "That's not always such a bad thing, you know."

She smirked, "It's all your fault. There's hardly any bandits or other sources of danger around Whiterun Hold anymore."

"What can I say?" Marcus shrugged, "Trouble has a way of finding me."

"Or you go looking for it..."

Marcus looked at his feet, "One or the other. There's not much difference, in any event..."

Aela looked at the young man with hints of concern touching her normally stoic face. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," Marcus looked up, and smiled reassuringly, "I'm good."

Aela nodded, brow furrowed slightly. Then she gestured toward Erik with one hand. "So what's the idea? Bringing random farmers in to train with us?"

Marcus chuckled quietly. "The guy wants to be an adventurer. I had a good look at him, and figured he didn't have what it took. Nonetheless, I figured he deserved at least a chance to look at something outside of his hometown, so I decided to make it so he has what it takes."

"Hmm..." Aela rubbed her chin, "You're quite the caring heart."

"I try."

They lapsed into silence, and watched Vilkas and Ria attempt to train Erik. The man had heart, if not skill and coordination. But skill and coordination could be taught. Marcus was proof of that. They watched as the group trained and sparred. Within an hour, Erik had bruises from unlucky whacks with the practice swords. Marcus could tell Ria was holding back, which was surprising. She hadn't held back when he used to spar with her.

Eventually, Vilkas nodded to Marcus and gestured for him to come over. Marcus stood up and met him out in the yard.

Vilkas said, "I feel like Erik here could potentially benefit from watching a sparring match between more skilled opponents."

Marcus smiled, "What, between the two of us? You sure you want a stranger to see you get knocked on your ass?"

Vilkas crossed his arms, "With no Thu'um and no magic? I reckon you'll be the one brushing dirt of your pants."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, "We'll see, I guess."

They both grabbed a practice sword. Ria ran inside Jorrvaskr and shouted something, before almost every other Companion rushed outside to watch the match. Marcus frowned, and looked back at Vilkas.

"Bit of an audience… I can't say I'm enjoying the added pressure."

Vilaks smirked, "Having second thoughts?"

Marcus turned and faced him, rolling his shoulders. "Never been one for performing in front of crowds, that's all."

"Don't worry," Farkas called out, "This'll only determine how much we respect you, that's all."

Marcus rolled his eyes, "Yeah, thanks Farkas."

Vilkas and Marcus began circling each other, watching each other's movements. Erik's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to watch and learn their movements.

Vilkas turned to the aspiring adventurer, "I suppose the first thing for you to keep an eye on is -"

Marcus promptly struck out at Vilkas' wrist with the wooden sword, scoring a nasty welt just below the palm. Without taking his eyes of the Companion, Marcus said, "First lesson, never take you're eyes of your opponent, in a one-on-one scenario."

Vilkas grunted in annoyance, rubbing his wrist. There was some murmurs amongst the gathered Companions. The older man lunged forward, so Marcus stepped back and parried the incoming thrust upwards, only for Vilkas to take another step closer, and punch Marcus in the stomach with his free hand.

Marcus staggered backward, clutching his stomach, doubled over. Vilkas tried a downward, overheard strike aimed at Marcus' neck. Marcus saw it coming in his peripheral vision, and dived to the right, rolling and coming back up onto his feet to block another sword strike from Vilkas.

Erik watched with amazement at the display the two fighters were putting on. For his untrained, inexperienced eyes, they were moving with incredible speed and were able to avoid attacks with ease. He silently hoped he could be that good, one day.

Marcus and Vilkas exchanged blows for a while, each fighter rarely getting a hit or two past the other's defense. Marcus didn't particularly want to lose in front of Aela, let alone the rest of the companions. Plus Erik was here too, and a selfish part of Marcus wanted to impress the impressionable man. He was their Harbinger, for goodness sake. He technically was supposed to be the best fighter out of all of them.

Marcus tried to think of something that might help him win, something that wasn't magic, or Thu'um. He wracked his brain to come up with something. Vilkas had better battle endurance than him, and could probably just wait until he made a mistake.

Vilkas lunged forward, aiming for Marcus' midsection. Marcus dodged to the right and lashed out with a kick aiming for Vilkas' left leg. Vilkas leapt backward, and brought his wooden sword around with startling speed, smacking Marcus in the calf.

Caught off-balance, Marcus did an involuntary twirl from the added momentum Vilkas added to his leg, and fell onto the ground. Face-to-face with the dirt, a brief idea flickered through his mind. It was 'underhanded' but would probably work.

Marcus rolled to the left, avoiding the downward thrust Vilkas had aimed for his chest. He quickly got to his knees, and watched as Vilkas quickly moved toward him once again. When Vilkas had raised his sword for another downward strike, Marcus acted.

He flung his left hand out in front of him, throwing a handful of dirt and sand directly into Vilkas' face. As an instant reflex, Vilkas closed his eyes and shielded his face with his free hand. Marcus instantly leapt off his feet, his crouched legs extending fully and propelling him straight into Vilkas' chest. Marcus knocked the older warrior to the ground, and used his left arm to pin Vilkas' right to the ground, then held his wooden sword to the man's throat.

Vilkas looked surprised, then angry, then resolute. He slowly smiled, and let his own wooden sword fall from his grasp.

"A dirty move," he muttered, "but you win."

Marcus stood up, and helped the Companion to his feet. Allowing Vilkas a chance to brush himself off, Marcus turned to Eric.

Marcus said, "There's no 'dirty moves' in a real fight. You just do what it takes to win, or you die. There's no middle ground. If you see a chance, you take it. It's that simple. If you're to take anything away from this, let it be that."

Vilkas grunted, dusting off his shoulder, "Well, there is an element of honor in battle you should account for."

Marcus shrugged, "Honor has a bigger place in your life than mine, Vilkas. Besides, I doubt Eric here is interested in being a Companion."

"I mean," Eric looked at the assembled group, "I certainly wouldn't cross it off my list, but it's just not what I'm looking for, at the moment."

Ria frowned at this. Marcus noticed the expression out the corner of his eye. It made sense, he figured. Ria had wanted to join the Companions ever since she was a young girl. She probably couldn't imagine anyone who wouldn't want to do the same.

Vilkas shrugged, and clapped Marcus on the back, "Well, I think I could do with a drink, how about the rest of you?"

There was assorted cheers of agreement from the Companions, and they all began filing inside. Marcus looked at the sky, gauging the time of day. It was close to evening, so he should probably get something to eat. He went to follow the others inside, when Eric stopped him.

"What about me?" the older man asked.

Marcus blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Where am I going to go?"

"Uhh..." Marcus pointed into Jorrvaskr, "with the rest of us, of course. Why would you think differently?"

"B-But…" Eric stammered, "I'm not a Companion."

Marcus shrugged, "Don't need to be. As long as one of us gives the ok, you're welcome. Think of yourself as a guest of honor, courtesy of the Harbinger." Marcus placed a hand on his chest on the word 'Harbinger'.

"Um… ok." Eric looked a little overwhelmed. His life had taken a rather dramatic turn in the last few days, it seemed. He turned and followed Marcus inside the building.

The companions appeared to act celebratory that evening, but in reality their actions were no different to any other night. Marcus was still somewhat unused to the almost absurd amounts of revelry that the Companions partook in. They tried to get him to drink multiple times, but Marcus politely declined. He didn't like to drink. Eric, on the other hand, saw the opportunity of drinking as an excellent way to remove some of the nervous anxiety he felt.

Just when Marcus was about to get up and leave, Eric stumbled over to him, and sat himself down in the chair adjacent to the young Dragonborn.

"Marcus..." Eric said slowly, "I need your help."

"Yeah?" Marcus hummed, sitting back down, "What with?"

Eric put down his tankard, and pointed toward the where Ria was sitting. "That lady there. What was her name again?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow as far as he could possibly raise it. "You mean Ria? Why are you asking?"

Eric swirled his mead around in his tankard sheepishly. "Well… I was kinda thinking of going over and talking to her..."

Marcus thought for a second. Ria's 'holding back' during the training today was a good indication she didn't hate Eric, at least, and since she'd had a few drinks as well, she probably wouldn't brush him off instantly. In any event, both had spent their early lives on a farm, so they might find common ground there.

Eric sighed, "Stupid idea, I know. I'd better get some adventures under my belt, before I even bother."

"Don't be silly," Marcus slapped a hand on Eric's shoulder, "I sincerely doubt that sort of thing matters to her. Go ahead, I think it's a good idea."

"Really?" Eric brightened. "Ok, thanks." He stood up and walked quickly over to the spare seat beside Ria.

Marcus watched him go, then stood up and moved toward the door. He was about to open it, when Aela stepped in front of him.

She cocked her head to the side, and asked, "Where are you going?"

Marcus blinked, "To Breezehome, of course."

Aela frowned, "You're bed is here, Harbinger."

Marcus shrugged, "Kodlak preferred harder, more solid beds. I prefer the opposite. Not only does it make sleeping harder, but it's also a constant, painful reminder."

Aela crossed her arms, "He's at peace, Marcus. He got everything he wanted. There's no need for a reminder of the old man to be painful."

Marcus turned away, and took the final step toward the door. "It's not a reminder of the man, it's a reminder of my own actions, the actions that got him killed."

Marcus went to push open the door, but Aela stopped him by softly grabbing his arm. Marcus turned, seeing Aela's expression mould into a softer, cheekier smile, "If you'd like, I can help you make the bed a little… softer?"

Marcus sighed, smiling at the floor. "Aela… It's tempting, but my answer is still the same. I have too many tasks to do outside of Whiterun. Getting that… attached… to you, would only make it harder to leave and do all the necessary things I'm already finding it hard to bring myself to accomplish." Marcus lowered his voice, "As it is, there's a lot of things that make me just want to stay in Whiterun, lock myself indoors, and never step foot outside."

Aela looked disappointed, but understanding. Marcus patted her on the shoulder, and gave her an encouraging smile. "I don't think I'll even sleep tonight," he said, opening the door and looking out at the darkening sky. "I might go for a walk around the farmland instead."

Then Marcus disappeared into the dusk, the door swinging shut behind him.

* * *

"I don't know why you'd want to bring me for this kind of thing, though." Erik brushed his hair, dislodging the snow that had accumulated there.

"You fit the description I required." Marcus said simply.

"How?" Erik spread his arms wide, "Out of everyone willing to run off to help you with something, I'm probably the worst fighter."

"I'm not expecting a difficult fight," Marcus shrugged, "In fact, I'm anticipating not having a fight at all. That's half the reason I brought you here. Out of everyone within a day's travel, you're the most intimidating."

"Really?" Erik looked doubtful.

"Yep," Marcus nodded, "Provided you don't speak, you seem like a fairly experienced fighter with that armour and that shield. I'm hoping to resolve this next situation without conflict."

Erik frowned. "Yeah, you still haven't actually told me what that situation is going to be."

Marcus nodded, and clicked his fingers, "Oh yeah, I haven't, have I? Well, do you remember that night you got hammered in Jorrvaskr two days ago?"

Erik frowned, "Umm… not really?"

Marcus smiled, "Let me rephrase, do you remember the morning after?"

Erik nodded, "You weren't there, I had to go get Eorland's equipment and keep training myself."

Marcus said, "Well, while that was all happening, I went for a walk up to Dawnstar. Took part in the grand opening of some Museum."

"Sounds like fun."

"Not really. The curator turned out to be a remnant of the Mythic Dawn, a group of Daedra worshiping crazies that caused the Oblivion crisis. He asked me to go fetch several pieces of Mehrunes Dagon's Razor."

"Wow..." Erik breathed, looking a little stunned. He'd been taught a little about the daedra by his father, for some reason, and knew such a thing wasn't to be trifled with.

He looked over at Marcus, "What did you do?"

"Well," Marcus shrugged, "I agreed to do it. I've got all the pieces with me right now."

"What?" Erik exclaimed. He ran forward and grabbed Marcus by the shoulder, pulling him to a stop. "Do you have any idea what the Daedra are capable of?"

"Woah, easy." Marcus held his hands up in defense, startled by Erik's outburst. "It's ok. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Erik asked, "What went through your head when you agreed to follow the commands of an evil man?"

"The curator told me of the locations of the Razor pieces. They were all in the hands of less than honorable groups. I'd rather the pieces were in my possession than theirs. It might not be that powerful in fragmented form, but I doubt leaving them in the hands of bandits and necromancers was a good idea."

"That doesn't explain why you're bringing it to the man..."

Marcus said, "If I don't bring them back, I'm likely to get hired assassins sent after me. At least this way, I might have a chance to convince the curator to stop his course of action."

"Are you sure you'll be able to change his mind?" Erik looked doubtful.

Marcus sighed, and looked to the side. "He's… misled. Seems to believe this is his duty to his family. I hope I can avoid killing him, but… I'm not expecting a miracle."

They lapsed into silence, walking for a while without talking. After 10 minutes, one thing still perplexed Erik.

The new adventurer rubbed his chin, "I don't know why you'd need me to intimidate the guy, though? If you wanted to, you could use a Thu'um and scare him that way. Intimidation might not even be the right tactic to use."

Marcus stiffened slightly, before quickly returning his posture to normal. The shift in body language went unnoticed by Erik.

In reality, Marcus wanted to bring someone else along because he was worried. He was scared, almost. Draugr were one thing, as were Dragons, but Daedric Lords were something else. There was no prophecy that helped him fight Daedra, nor was there any inherent abilities that would make it easier to do what he had in mind.

Selfish as it was, Marcus wanted someone with him that would look up to him. Someone that would make him feel like he was making the right decisions. It wasn't something Marcus had ever thought before, but then he'd never had to face a Daedric God of Destruction before. Marcus wanted to feel as if he wasn't about to get himself killed, and if he wasn't able to convince himself that, he wanted someone beside him that could. He didn't know anyone else that would treat him like that, and would be willing to come along, apart from Erik.

Still, he wasn't about to tell Erik that.

Marcus cleared his throat, "Well, I have a few other plans in mind, but I think it's always good to have as many avenues as possible covered."

Erik chewed his lip nervously. "You don't think there's a chance we'll have to fight daedra, do you?"

Marcus thought for a moment. He really didn't know, but figured it was unlikely. Hopefully, they'd be able to stop Silus before they got to the stage where they actually communed with Mehrunes Dagon. "No, I don't think so."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter mightn't be up to scratch, but I've been really sick this past week, and I wanted to get something out before it got too delayed.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	23. Chapter 23

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 23 – Dagon and the Dragon

Marcus and Erik walked into Dawnstar, their boots crackling against the snow underfoot. Seabirds flew about above their heads, resting in trees and on the crossbeams of docked ships.

Erik asked, "Where's the museum?"

Marcus pointed toward the far side of the town. "Over there. See the wider building with the porch? That's it."

"What'll you say to him?"

Marcus sighed, "I'm not sure. I'm thinking it might be easier to perhaps sabotage the ritual, so he loses faith. I'll try and convince him otherwise, but I'd rather not antagonize the man. If history's anything to go by, the Mythic Dawn aren't to be underestimated."

The two men walked up the stairs to the building, and headed through the main entrance. Inside, examining a tapestry on the wall depicting the Mythic Dawn's symbol, was Silus. As he heard the door open, he turned with an appreciative smile.

"Ah, Marcus," he acknowledged, "you're back. Who's this you've brought with you?"

Marcus gestured to Erik. "This is Erik, he's an experienced mercenary I brought along to assist us. The roads around Dawnstar have gotten rather dangerous, so I made sure we got some extra protection. Don't worry, I've told him about everything, and he's on board."  
"Ah," Silus nodded, "Good thinking. Have you returned with the… items, I requested?"

"Yes," Marcus walked forward and held up a bag. "They're in here."

"Excellent," Silus rubbed his hands together. He held both hands out, eager to take the bag from the young man.

"Hang on," Marcus took a step backward, "I want to know specifically why you're doing this."

"Why?"

Marcus shrugged, a wary look on his face, "Call it professional curiosity. I want to know whether you're doing this out of a deeply-seated personal desire, or if you feel it's simply an obligation to your family."

Silus laughed, "My boy… The achievements of the Mythic Dawn were incredible! If anything, I'd have to say it's both. I have a deep-seated desire to follow the same path as my ancestors."

Marcus must have looked rather troubled at Silus' words, because when he turned back to face him, the curator's face twisted into a wary frown.

Silus walked a few steps over to Marcus, "You're not having second thoughts are you?" His voice was dangerously low, "Don't you see? Fate has led you to me, and to the pieces. You can't turn away now. You need to see this through, to the end."

Marcus thought, _He's right, in a sense. I need to make sure the dagger never gets crafted. If I learn the process, and find the altar, perhaps I can make sure it doesn't happen..._

Marcus help up his hands in a defensive manner, "No second thoughts, just curious to the mentality behind the man, that's all."

Silus nodded in satisfaction, and turned away. Marcus and Erik exchanged a nervous glance. The curator spent a little time gathering some things, before handing a large bag to Marcus.

"Here, you're payment for the pieces, before we leave."

Marcus didn't see any moral reason to not take the money, so he accepted it and put it safely away. Silus then turned away, gathering a couple items. As he moved around the museum, he spoke in excited tones. His face beamed with almost madman-like levels of eagerness.

"Ever since I learned of my family's involvement with the Mythic Dawn, I've felt a strange sense of destiny surrounding them. Now, it feels stronger than ever. It's fate, Dagon has **got** to meet us at the shrine." He turned and nodded to both men. "I'll meet you both there."

With those words, Silus walked out the door. Erik and Marcus were quiet for a moment.

Then Erik asked, "Why didn't you stop him? He's going to go and create the Razor, now. Do you know what that might bring to Tamriel? Because I sure don't, and I really don't want to find out."

"Did you see his face?" Marcus asked, shaking his head slowly, "the man is a borderline fanatic. If I'd known he was like this, and actually had a proper plan for reassembling the Razor, I never would've helped him in the first place. As it is now, I don't think there's anyway to change his mind."

"I guess… but why didn't you just kill him where he stood?" Erik asked, his face confused. "If you knew he couldn't be dissuaded, why didn't you just end it?"

Marcus sighed, looking at his hands rather ashamedly, and thought for a moment. "I hate it when people do this, but let me answer that question with another question. Why didn't you?"  
Erik went to reply, but stopped. He hadn't killed the man because he hadn't felt it was… right. Silus didn't strike him as inherently evil, just deluded. He was dangerously deluded, but was probably just a somewhat lonely man that delved a little too deep down a dark hole. Was something like that really worth killing him for? Perhaps.

But the decision wasn't simple, and Erik assumed that Marcus had been struggling with it the entire time Silus was talking, only truly realizing it after Silus had left, probably just as Erik asked the question.

Marcus rubbed his eyes, his posture somewhat tired. "I probably should've killed him. I know. But it's hard to decide something like that in the moment. I'd harbored hope he could be convinced otherwise, but… well, you heard him yourself."

Erik nodded slowly, "Plus you have to consider there's an entire town outside that probably isn't as informed to the situation as we are. It'd take an awful lot of explaining to stop us getting hacked to pieces."

Marcus nodded, "Yeah… I'm still wondering if that might've been a better plan. I'm not sure if Dagon has a specific summoning day like the other daedra, but if Silus is able to contact him… this might get very complicated, and very dangerous, very fast."

"We still have a chance or two to make sure this doesn't happen, though," Erik said in a slightly cheerier tone, trying at the very least to improve the situation by cheering Marcus up.

"Hmm..." Marcus was unconvinced. He gaze and body language was… distracted, as if he wasn't really listening to what Erik was saying, but rather was chasing some train of thoughts in his head. He walked towards the door, pushing it open. "I… I just was thinking… after all these people I've killed over the last few months, I was happy to think, here was one I could've saved. That desire led me to inaction."

Marcus took a step outside, the cold air billowing into the room. Erik followed quickly, unsure what to think of Marcus' statement, but determined to make sure he didn't have to face the upcoming trial alone.

* * *

Marcus and Erik trekked up the rock trail, heading toward the place Silus had told Marcus about. Neither of them spoke. Erik was scared about potentially facing a daedra, or perhaps even a daedric lord. Marcus was scared that he mightn't be able to stop the wheel he had set into motion. As they reached the shrine, Marcus saw that is was, in fact, little more than an altar carved into the side of the mountain, overlooking the surrounding land, and a small space behind it leading into some kind of cave. Silus was there, carefully placing the pieces of the Razor onto the altar.

Before they got to close, Marcus whispered to Erik. "When he attempts to do the ritual, come forward and act interested in it. I'll get around behind him and kill him, I guess."

Erik gulped, but nodded quickly nonetheless. Despite his eagerness into the adventuring life, Erik hadn't actually ever killed someone before. He was glad Marcus was available to take the lead, as it were.

Silus looked up as the two approached. "Good, you're here. I've placed the pieces on the altar. Dagon should speak with us."

"Ok," Marcus nodded, "Are you sure this will work? Does Dagon have a particular summoning day?"

"No," Silus shook his head, "Not that I know of. In any event, I'm certain that this would work regardless."

Marcus sighed quietly, and gave Erik a barely perceptible nod. The older man walked up to the altar, just as Silus began to raise his hands above the laid pieces.

"Mehrunes Dagon," Silus began to murmur, eyes closed, "Lord of Change, we have brought your razor to you. We beg you, please bring the blade's full glory to Tamriel again!"

Marcus positioned himself behind Silus, and slowly drew his glass dagger out of its sheathe, ready to strike the chanting man down.

Erik watched the altar, waiting for either the pieces to move, or for Marcus to slice Silus across the throat. Marcus quickly spun the dagger around into a saber grip, and began slowly reaching forward to grab Silus' shoulder and bury the blade into the man's throat.

"Nothing's happening." Erik blurted out, causing Silus to open his eyes and stare down at the unchanging pieces.

"You're right..." mumbled Silus, "Nothing…. nothing's happening..."

Marcus froze, peering at the pieces, before quickly sheathing the dagger. A look of relief washed over both Erik's and Marcus' face. It seemed to them, that whatever ritual Silus had planned hadn't worked. He might not have to die, after all.

"Why isn't this working?" asked Silus in a demanding tone, turning and to the others. "I've done everything that I know?"

Marcus cleared his throat, "I'm not sure. Maybe your vision of fate isn't what you believed it to be."

Silus began to look worried, probably afraid that he'd perhaps displeased Dagon. He scratched his head, looking around the shrine. His eyes alighted upon Marcus. "Why don't you try?" he said suddenly.

"What?" exclaimed Marcus, "What the hell makes you think Dagon would talk to me?"

"You retrieved the pieces of his Razor," said Silus, "that might make you more… worthy."

Marcus didn't see why a Daedric Lord would want to speak to him more than their dedicated priest, but he figured that was a good indicator that nothing was to come of this. Marcus didn't expect any response from the altar, and thus thought that humoring Silus would only help lower the man's spirits, and ensure he wouldn't follow this path anymore.

Marcus shrugged, and walked up the altar, and gently placed both hands on it, close to the pieces of the Razor. The air around them felt… wrong, to say the least. As if the particles in the air quivered in fear upon approaching the remains of the weapon.

A second after Marcus put his hands on the cold stone, a loud, scathing voice rang out around the shrine. The voice was brutal, for lack of a better word. It seemed to bleed hatred, and shook all three men to their bones. It seemed to come from nowhere, and everywhere at once.

"You. Mortal"

Marcus knew it was talking to him. He knew it was Dagon. He was now at the centre of a Daedric Lord's attention. His mind drew a complete blank. Behind him, Erik gasped in fear, while Silus gasped in exhilaration.

The voice boomed out. "You are the one worth speaking to. You have claimed the pieces of my razor. It has been an amusing game to witness..."

Marcus gulped, sweat began to line his brow.

"But Dagon does not declare a winner while there is a pawn on the board," Dagon continued, "Kill Silus. He and his family have served their purpose."

Marcus took and involuntary step backward. Dagon was demanding the execution of his own servant? Marcus turned and looked at Silus. The man seemed to have responded to the news by having a borderline mental breakdown. His eyes were almost comically wide, and his mouth hung open like a swinging trapdoor. His fingers twitched, and he took several involuntary steps backward. After admiring the Mythic Dawn for most of his life, and praising Mehrunes Dagon for most of his adult life, now the same Lord was intent on having him killed. The shock and disbelief on the curator's face represented probably a fraction of what he must have been feeling inside.

Marcus turned back to face the pieces of the Razor. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and spoke. "Silus was instrumental in retrieving the pieces. He deserves to live..."

Dagon's voice reverberated around the shrine again, "Only Dagon can declare if a pawn is worth keeping." The voice hardened. "I. Have. Spoken. Kill him, and take your rightful place as my champion, or I will crush you."

Marcus froze. His mind raced with multiple potential options, but he instantly knew only two of them were viable. He could obey Mehrunes Dagon, and kill Silus, or he could defy the Daedric Lord, and suffer whatever wrath such an action warranted.

Neither of those choices was anything close to what Marcus wanted.

"Wait!" Silus cried, holding his hands up in front of himself. Marcus turned to look at the man with a troubled face.

"Don't kill me!" Silus gasped, "There's another way. I can take the pieces back to my Museum, seal them away in my display case. You'll get a generous amount of gold, I get to complete my collection, and nobody has to die!"

It was Marcus' turn for his eyes to widen. Not out of shock though, but out of fear and overwhelming concern. The choice was simple, yet so complicated. He didn't want to kill Silus, and he didn't want to obey Dagon. But the alternative was extremely dangerous.

True, he had been previously about to kill the curator, but now it was clear that doing so wouldn't have changed anything, nor would it have stopped Dagon from being 'present' at this affair. If Silus wanted to just leave for Dawnstar, lock the pieces away, and never follow the path of the Mythic Dawn again, Marcus would never want to stop him. In Marcus' eyes, that was the ideal outcome.

But this was Mehrunes Dagon. Marcus had learnt more than enough about him in Cyrodiil to know that defying this Lord was borderline suicidal. This particular daedra had almost ended the world. What's to say he couldn't smite Marcus right now, if Marcus defied him?

Then Marcus also had to consider Erik. What would befall the eager adventurer-to-be if Marcus defied one of the most powerful beings in existence? It was doubtful Dagon would decide to spare Erik while killing Marcus, and the headstrong young man would probably try and get involved to save Marcus in any event.

Marcus hadn't come up here to do Dagon's bidding. Far from it. But he'd aimed on solving the situation before Dagon could potentially get involved. Now that it had escalated beyond that point, would continued defiance of the Daedra be wise?

The questions swirled around in Marcus' head. Everyone at the shrine looked at him, awaiting his decision in these past few seconds.

Marcus closed his eyes, his mind finally reaching a conclusion. There was one option that was logical, calculated, safe, easy, and would guarantee the survival of the most people present. The other option was the opposite. It was illogical, dangerous, and could potentially result in the death of everyone present.

Marcus, being the individual he was, chose the latter.

He turned, facing the pieces of the Razor once more. He took a single step forward, and drew his sword in a single motion. The air grew heavy and thick in an instant, with as much tension as snow.

"I am not your puppet, Daedra." Marcus spat. His brow lowered, and his grip on his sword tightened as he spoke the words. "I refuse."

The voice rang out once last time, with burning anger. "You think to betray Mehrunes Dagon?! You will suffer!"

A magical crackle filled the air, as two twin portals of purple energy swirled and formed behind the three men. Erik drew his sword, as Marcus charged a magical armour spell in his left hand. Out of the two purple portals, stepped a pair of dremora.

They were unmistakable. They looked exactly like they did in the storybooks Marcus had read as a child. Red skin, twisted horns, a permanent look of scathing hatred on their features. They wore gnarled, spiky black armour, with undertones of red. In their hands, they carried a gigantic serrated greatsword with intricate orange lines traveling up and down the blades. Daedric weapons and armour, enchanted.

The one furthest to the right charged toward Erik, while the one to the left swung an overhead, moving blow at Silus.

Trusting Erik to be able to handle himself better than a museum curator for a few seconds, Marcus bolted forward to protect Silus.

As the greatsword arced down, Marcus threw himself in front of Silus, and held his glass sword up to block it. He positioned his left arm underneath the flat of the blade, so that the back of his forearm was pressed against the cold malachite and supported the heavier end against the incoming strike.

The dremora had committed too much to the attack to change its trajectory, so at least in a temporary sense, Silus was saved.

The large black blade crashed down onto Marcus. His glass sword didn't break, but the sheer force of the attack and the flame enchantment both burned his arms, and pushed him to his knees. Annoyed that it's first attack had failed, the dremora raised it's sword above it's head again, intent on repeatedly bringing the heavy blade down on the mortal until its defense cracked.

The curator took the opportunity Marcus had given him to stumble backwards, falling onto his back and scrabbling at the snowy rock to get some distance between himself and the red and black armoured horror that had so nearly split him in two.

With practiced speed, Marcus quickly pulled his dagger out of its sheath, and thrust outward at the exposed stomach of the daedra, aiming for one of the 'gaps' in the black metal that seemed to be indicated by the redder areas.

His dagger hit the metal, and completely stopped. It didn't slide between the plates, it didn't push through, it didn't even bounce or scrape off. It just hit the armour and did literally nothing else.

The dremora, poised with its greatsword over it's head, paused to allow a twisted smile to spread across its features, as Marcus realized how ineffective his weapons were.

On the other side of the shrine, Erik was similarly engaged with the dremora, in terms of ineffectiveness. The second dremora swung an overhead strike at Erik, who attempted to block it with his steel shield. The large daedric weapon cut through the metal down to its middle, almost reaching the hand grip on the other side, and the enchantment proceeded to burn along Erik's forearm. The young man cried out in pain, letting go of his shield and staggering back. The dremora took a long step forward, and kicked Erik in the chest, sending him sprawling onto the ground, centimeters from the edge of the shrine, overlooking the edge of the mountain.

Marcus' head snapped to the side upon hearing Erik's cry of pain, seeing the man dangerously close to the edge, and the second dremora walking over to him, greatsword raised for one final downward strike, Marcus knew he had to do something or Erik would die.

Marcus dropped his sword and used both hands to shove the dremora in front of him with all his might. The daedra wasn't expecting this, and was staggered backwards, off-balance. Marcus got to his feet and rolled to the side, getting some distance between himself and the dremora he was engaged with. He turned to face Erik, to see the second dremora standing directly over him, its metal foot pinning the man to the ground, and the large black greatsword positioned directly over his chest.

Marcus took a deep breath, and lined himself up. He heard shuffling beside him, as the first dremora moved about, but he ignored it. Marcus opened his mouth, and shouted.

"Fus, Ro DAH!"

The blue energy collided with the dremora's chest, launching it into the air, but not touching Erik. The second dremora flew out over the side of the shrine, and plummeted 50 metres onto a section of the rocks jutting out of the mountain below.

As soon as he'd finished saying the last word of the shout, a burning sensation carved it's way across Marcus' back, and he was knocked to the ground, vision blurred. He hit the stone ground, pain rippling through his torso. Rolling onto his back, Marcus saw the first dremora standing a metre away, its greatsword dripping with his blood. If Marcus had any feeling in his back apart from the burning pain, he would've felt the cold trickle of blood rush across his skin. On anyone else, that blow probably would've cut them in half, but Marcus had spent a long time tempering and modifying his armour of late, and had added a decent magical armour spell on top of that. Instead of carving him into pieces, the blow simply gave him a long, deep cut along most of his back.

The dremora took another step toward Marcus, and raised its sword upward, aiming for the centre of his chest. Ignoring the pain he felt, Marcus quickly rolled to the side, and the blade crashed into the stone where he was a second ago, sparks flying. The daedra snarled in annoyance. It raised its sword again, taking a step closer to Marcus, ensuring it wouldn't miss again.

Then Erik appeared behind it, shouting a wordless cry of battle, and swinging his sword with both hands at the exposed back of the daedra. The simple steel weapon did basically no damage to the dremora, but distracted it well enough from Marcus for him to quickly channel a concentrated dose of restoration magic through his body.

The dremora swung a backhand punch at Erik, catching the man in the mouth with it's spiky metal gauntlet, and knocking him away onto his back. Momentarily distracted from Marcus, it walked over to Erik, placed one foot on his chest to keep him pinned, then raised the greatsword in preparation of a downward thrust into the young man's neck.

Then Marcus was on his feet again, leaping onto the back of the dremora, and plunged his dagger into the eye of the hellish human. It attempted to groan in pain, but no sound came out of its open mouth. Its brain died before its body got a chance to realize.

With a crash, the armoured brute collapsed to the ground.

Marcus breathed out a deep breath of relief. He closed his eyes and panted for a few moments. When he opened them, Erik was standing over him, hand outstretched to help him to his feet. Marcus smiled, and accepted the assistance, getting to his feet.

"You think that's all?" Erik asked.

"I..." Marcus looked around. "I think so."

"Huh," Erik mused, rubbing his shoulder, "I kind of expected more, from a Daedric Lord of Destruction..."

"As did I."

Marcus walked over and examined the dead body of the Daedra. It's armour was fused to its own skin, by the looks of it. The sword was available to take, but Marcus didn't want to. The thing looked extremely heavy, and at this point, he was glad just to leave this whole shrine far in the distance behind him.

The two warriors walked down the steps of the shrine, meeting Silus at the bottom. The curator was pale, and shook a little.

"Had enough of the Daedra for one day?" Marcus said with a tired smile.

"I've had enough for one lifetime," gulped Silus. "I'm taking those pieces back to Dawnstar, and locking them away so I never have to see them again."

Marcus nodded, "Glad to hear it."

Silus hurried up to the shrine, gathered up the pieces in a bag, then hurried back down and set off in the direction of Dawnstar. Marcus and Erik watched him go. Marcus looked at his feet, thinking.

Despite the fact that they'd all survived this encounter, they nearly hadn't. If Erik had died, that blood would've been on Marcus' hands. Considering the circumstances and reasons behind why Marcus brought Erik along in the first place… He began to feel guilty.

"Listen, Erik..." Marcus began, "I… I want to apologize for getting you involved in this… It was never my intention to get into this situation myself, let alone drag you into it. If I'd known we were going to be fighting Daedra, I never would have asked you to accompany me."

Erik looked at Marcus with a funny expression for a few seconds. Marcus looked back, unsure and somewhat afraid of Erik's reaction. Marcus had originally brought Erik here for somewhat selfish reasons, and he'd almost been killed for it.

Then Erik started laughing, to the point where he clutched his sides and had to steady himself on a nearby tree. "Marcus, what on earth are you talking about?" he said, gasping for air. "What we just did is **exactly** what I envisioned on those boring, sunny days in Rorikstead. Spitting in the face of a Daedric lord and fighting off his minions? It doesn't get much more awesome than that!"

Marcus stared at Erik's smiling face blankly. The slightly older man seemed to have an attitude containing as much self-preservation as himself, which was truly baffling.

Erik walked over to Marcus and clapped him on the shoulder. "You need to lighten up. I expected to get into dangerous situations ever since I left Rorikstead. Don't blame yourself for it. I consider this an excellent start to my journey across Skyrim."

Marcus' face was blank. "You're… you're not concerned about this?"

"No," Erik shook his head, smiling. "Not really. It was scary at the time, but I expected it to be."

Marcus looked a little stunned, but slowly began to force his mind to think. "Well," he mumbled, "I was thinking on heading back to Whiterun, and maybe see if Danica could have a look at that cut on my back, make sure those daedric weapons didn't do any long-term damage…?"

"Excellent idea," Erik nodded in agreement. "I might be able to get another lesson or two from the Companions."

Marcus' sense of humor re-engaged itself, and he smiled. "You mean, you'll be able to chat to Ria again?"

"I..." Erik went to reply, but realized he couldn't feasibly come up with a smart response to such an accurate prediction, so he kept silent.

The pair turned, and began walking in the opposite direction that Silus had run.

* * *

The wind around High Hrothgar whipped at Marcus, blowing the looser leather and robes of his armour around, while chilling him to the bone. He still didn't understand how a group of old men managed to survive up here, let alone find the energy to meditate on words of power and practice them.

He heaved open the door to the temple, and stepped inside, enjoying the slight change in temperature. Marcus brushed some snow off his clothes, and rubbed his hands together. High Hrothgar might have been made of cold stone, but at least there was a couple lit braziers inside. He went and stood next to one, waiting for himself to warm up a little.

Once he had got some feeling back in his fingers and toes, Marcus moved further into the temple to look for Arngeir. He found the old man where he expected to find him, meditating as usual in front of one of the windows. Marcus walked up to him, and cleared his throat. Arngeir opened his eyes a second later, and looked up at Marcus.

"Greetings, Marcus," the old man nodded, "You have returned, no doubt with questions once more."

Marcus did a short bow, and nodded. "Indeed. I need to know the shout that was used to defeat Alduin, during the first Dragon war."

Arngeir frowned, "You've been talking to the Blades, haven't you? You learned this from them..."

"I did."

Arngeir sighed, "Once again, you take no heed of my warnings about them, and continue to accept their truths as your own."

Marcus folded his arms, "That Blades want to defeat Alduin. Don't you?"

Arngeir stood up, and waved a hand dismissively near his head. "What I want is irrelevant. This shout was used before, was it not? Yet Alduin remains alive, and here the world is once more, fighting against the end of the world. Have you considered that Alduin was not meant to be defeated?"

Marcus frowned deeply, taking a confused step back. "But..."

Arngeir interrupted him, "Those who overthrew Alduin in ancient times only postponed the day of reckoning, they did not halt it. This might be the will of the Gods. If the world is supposed to end, so be it. Let it end, and be reborn."

"What?!"

Marcus took two long strides towards Arngeir, getting dangerously close to the old man, staring him directly in the eyes. Marcus' face hardened, and his eyes glinted dangerously.

"You've never seen a dragon attack," Marcus spat, "You've never seen the burning men, you've never smelt the scorched flesh, you've never heard the ragged screams… You don't know the anguish an orphan can feel knowing their mother or father will never hold them again... If the Gods want this world to end, I know that there's nothing any of us can do to stop it."

Marcus took one more step closer to Arngeir, getting almost directly in the man's face.

"But..." Marcus said, his voice venomous and low. "Only when end of the world is painless, only when it is humane and peaceful, will I sheath my blade and give in. If the Gods want to give us the end of the world in the form of raging fire, I will spill every drop of blood I have, **just to slow it down**."

Arngeir looked at Marcus, meeting the young man's gaze head-on. The older man's face creased into a disappointed frown. He went to say something in reply, but another voice cut in first.

"Arngeir..." Einarth whispered in his room-shaking voice. "Rok los Dovahkiin. Strundu'ul. Rok fen tinvaak Paarthurnax."

Arngeir looked at his hands for a moment, Marcus glancing between the two Greybeards.

Eventually, Arngeir spoke. "Forgive me, Dragonborn. I was intemperate. I allowed emotions to cloud my judgment. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make."

Marcus took a step back, "So you'll teach me this shout?"

Arngeir shook his head. "I can't teach it to you, because I do not know it. It's called 'Dragonrend', but it's words are lost to us."

"How can that be?" Marcus asked, "I thought you knew all the words of power?"

"Not Dragonrend. It was no place amongst the Thu'um in our mind, so we do not regret this loss."

Marcus tilted his head inquisitively. "Why is that? What's so bad about Dragonrend?"

Arngeir's face turned somewhat bitter. "It was created by those that lived under the cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult. Their lives were consumed with hatred for Dragons, hatred that they poured into this shout. When you learn a shout, you take it into your very being, you become it, in a sense. In order to use Dragonrend, you'd be taking this hatred into yourself."

Marcus said, "If the shout is lost, then how can I defeat Alduin?"

"Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he chooses."

"Well," Marcus shrugged, "I need to see him, then."

Arngeir sighed, "You weren't ready, and you still aren't ready… but thanks to the Blades, you now have questions only he can answer."

The old man began walking away, "Follow me, we will show you how to open the path to Paarthurnax."

Marcus began to follow him. As they walked, Marcus muttered to Arngeir, "Why are you so hesitant to help me? The Dragons are terrorizing Skyrim, don't you think they need to be stopped?"

Arngeir replied evenly, "That might be what you are here for, Dragonborn, but stopping Alduin is one thing. Wiping out the Dragons again is another. Dragons are part of the natural order of the world. The Blades sought to change that, by wiping them out, but again we see that the natural order will be restored, one way or another. Perhaps if they ancient Blades had not acted so arrogantly, we would have Dragon allies against Alduin."

Marcus frowned. "Don't be so sure. Every Dragon that's ever bothered to converse with me during battle has made it clear they consider mortals lesser than ants. I doubt that attitude would ever change."

"Hmm… You might think differently, very soon."

Arngeir took Marcus up to the top of High Hrothgar, to a large stone gate leading further up the mountain. On the other side of the gate, was a wall of fast, icy wind.

"The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate. I will show you how to open the way."

Arngeir performed the same actions he did when Marcus learnt unrelenting force, carving the Dragon text into the stone floor with his voice. After Marcus studied them, Arngeir took a step closer to him, and bestowed onto the young man his own understanding of the shout.  
"This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well. Clear Skies will blow away the wind, for a time. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit."

Marcus nodded, "My thanks." He then turned and walked up the last few steps to the gate. Face-to-face with the icy winds, he couldn't help but feel… dwarfed, by the nature of the situation he was in. If he thought about his own position, about to ascend the tallest mountain in Tamriel to speak to the leader of an ancient order on how best to kill the firstborn of Akatosh, he would've probably started panicking from raw anxiety.

So, instead, Marcus didn't think about that. Instead, he cleared his mind, and took a deep breath, preparing to say the three words he'd just learned.

* * *

The path to the summit was… tiring, in a word. The constant necessity to use the clear skies shout chipped away at Marcus' endurance, even though he had gotten much better at managing his shout frequency over time. There was the occasional frost wraith to contend with, and at one point, even a frost troll. Neither posed too much challenge, but by the time Marcus reached the final stretch to the top, he was feeling like he could do with a nice rest.

Marcus emerged onto the clearing at the top of the mountain, looking around. There was a large word wall positioned off to one side, plenty of open, relatively flat space, and a strange semi-transparent spire shape next to the word wall. The spire looked like it had been crafted out of the very air itself.

Marcus was about to approach the spire, when he heard the tell-tale beating of wings behind him. Drawing his sword, he spun around to see a gigantic dragon soaring out from behind the mountain peak. Marcus was about to get ready for a fight, when the realization hit him like a sack of potatoes.

Paarthurnax wasn't a mortal name, it was a Dragon's name. It had the three main syllables and certainly wasn't nordic. Paarthurnax wasn't a greybeard, he was a Dragon.

Paarthurnax slowly lowered himself to the ground, landing with a loud crash, as Marcus sheathed his sword. It was strange being this close to a Dragon, and not being in mortal danger. The creature was large, easily as big as the Elder Dragon Marcus had fought in Karthspire. He looked older too, with slightly tattered wings, and downward facing horns on his face that looked like a bit like a beard.

Paarthurnax looked Marcus up and down, his massive head tilting forward.

"Drem yol lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Parthurnax." The Dragon's voice was deep, and booming. It resonated with the mountain, and vibrated to Marcus' core.

"Who are you?" Paarthurnax asked, "What brings you to my Strunmah? My mountain?"

Marcus was somewhat wide-eyed, still recovering from the revelation that the mentor of the Greybeards was none other than a Dragon.

"I..." Marcus blinked and took a deep breath, "I wasn't expecting you to be a Dragon..."

Paarthurnax said, "I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you, Dovahkiin. Tell me, why have you come here, volaan. Why do you intrude on my meditation?"

Marcus cleared his throat, and composed himself. "I'm here to learn the Dragonrend shout. Can you teach me?"

Paarthurnax tilted his head. "Hmm… Drem. Patience. There are formalities that must be observed, at the first meeting of two Dov."

The Dragon shifted, and turned his body to face the word wall, while his head swiveled to face Marcus. "By tradition, the eldest speaks first. Hear my Thu'um, feel it in your bones, and match it, if you are Dovahkiin..."

Marcus didn't know what to expect. What Paarthurnax just said could be interpreted as a challenge. What happened next allayed such concerns.

Paarthurnax opened his mouth, and breathed a huge gout of fire at the wall. When he stopped, three symbols were carved into the stone surface. The Dragon turned back to face Marcus. "I have spoken. The Rotmulaag waits."

Marcus glanced at the dragon, then walked forward to the wall. He brushed the words with his hand, and felt them sear into his mind.

Sun. The last word for 'Fire Breath'.

"A gift, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax rumbled. "Understand fire as we Dov, do."

Marcus closed his eyes, as his understanding of the shout was unlocked by Paarthurnax's. In an instant, he knew exactly how to use the shout.

"Now, show me what you can do," Paarthurnax said. "Greet me not as mortal, but as Dovah!"

 _Well,_ Marcus thought, _I guess there's only one thing for it._

Marcus stood up straight, and took a deep breath, rehearsing all three words in his mind.

"Yol, Tor SHUL!"

A blazing orange ring of fire burst from Marcus' face, and rushed toward Paarthurnax. The flames washed over the ancient Dragon's body.

"Ahh… Yes." The Dragon seemed satisfied with Marcus' action. "The Dragon blood runs strong within you. It has been too long since I've had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind."

"This is… strange." Marcus admitted.

"Indeed, it would be." Paarthurnax replied. "I have expected you, Dovahkiin. Prodah. But I know you have not come all this way for tiinvak with an old Dovah. No, you seek a weapon against Alduin."

Marcus said, "You knew I'd be here looking for Dragonrend? How?"

If the Dragon could shrug, it would've. "Alduin Komeyt Tid. What else would you seek? Alduin and Dovahkiin have returned together. But I do not know this Thu'um that you seek. Krosis. Apologies. It cannot be known to me."

"How can I learn it, then?"

"Hmmm," Paarthurnax looked at Marcus long and hard. "Drem. All in good time. First, tell me. Why do you want to learn this Thu'um?"

Marcus frowned, "Why do you even need to ask? I need it to stop Alduin. You basically just said that yourself."

"Hmmm," Paarthurnax hummed. "Yes. Alduin. The elder brother. Gifted, grasping and troublesome, as is so often the case with firstborn." Paarthurnax tilted his head sideways, "But why? Why must you stop Alduin?"

Marcus looked at his feet, the answer was obvious, but still felt rather… childish to say.

"I like this world..." Marcus said simply, shrugging. "And other people do too. I don't want it to end, least of all in the way Alduin brings about."

Paarthurnax nodded. "Prudah. As good a reason as any, and many feel as you do. Though, not all. But… Some would say that all things must come to an end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the egg for the next Kalpa? Lein Vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

Marcus considered this, then shook his head. "If that was the case, why would the Gods allow another Dragonborn? Why would the prophecy on Alduin's Wall exist? My very existence shows that this world's time has not come yet. The next world needs to take care of itself for a while. This one isn't finished just yet..."

"Paaz… A fair answer..." Paarthurnax nodded again. "Ro Fus. Maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world? Even we who ride the currents of time, cannot see past Time's end. Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Time is unstable. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. And those that try to delay the end, may bring it closer."

Marcus forced himself to think the old Dragon's words over. They made sense, as much as he hated to admit it. No-one could know, or even assume, the plans of the Gods. To do so was pointless, and none too foolish. It… It hadn't really been something Marcus had considered. He'd always assumed he was to defeat Alduin, and the other Dragons, and that was that.

Marcus sighed. He needed to think about this for a moment. He turned and walked a little way away, closer to the edge of the mountain. For about half a minute, Marcus simply looked out. Paarthurnax waited patiently for his response.

At this altitude, he couldn't see the ground below clearly, only the snow-filled clouds circling the mountain. Occasionally a gap in the clouds would allow him to see through to the green pastures below. He could even see a few rows of crops, most likely from the farms nearby to Whiterun.

"To tell the truth," Marcus began, "I don't know. I don't know about any of this. I never have."

Behind him, Paarthurnax shifted, moving a little closer behind Marcus.

"If you ride along the currents of time," Marcus continued, "then I'm being rushed along by them. I'm a piece of debris floating down a river with almost no control over my direction. I've known this for a while, about myself and my situation. I don't know how many times I've been pushed into an unexpected situation and been forced to flounder, struggling to keep my head above the waters. It galls me. It makes me angry. No doubt Dragons have an inherent distaste for being forced into a type of action."

"Geh." Paarthurnax nodded behind him. "Indeed. Soaring amongst the open skies generates a passion for freedom."

Marcus continued, "I've been more of a witness to life in this world, than a participant, if that makes any sense. The closest I get to most normal experiences is when I get to see them happening to others." He sighed, and rubbed his hands together, breath fogging in front of his face. "Yesterday, I had the opportunity to witness a birth in a temple devoted to Kynareth in a city down below. I saw the joy on the faces of the mother and father. Later that day, I watched as a friend of mine presented a bundle of flowers to the woman he's growing to love."

Marcus turned back to face the Dragon. "If this world is to end, then I don't understand why it's continuing to renew itself in such a… complete manner. I don't understand why the Gods would bestow onto it such a regrowth of love and life, if it's supposed to end soon, in such a brutal manner."

Marcus turned away again, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I won't pretend like I know anything about this. I'm only 21, myself. I'm yet to see my 22nd summer. If I had to be honest with myself, and with you, I'd say I know only two things, in reality."

Marcus turned and looked Paarthurnax directly in the eyes. "I know I don't want to watch this world end, and I know I'm willing to fight night and day for it. If in my entire current situation, those are the only things I truly know and understand, then I don't believe it's accurate to say that I'm going to play a part in this world ending."

There was silence for a few moments. Marcus' words hung in the air.

"Well spoke, Dovahkiin." Paarthurnax inclined his head. "You voice the same reasoning I've often felt myself. But we've indulged our own weaknesses for reflection and speech for too long. Let me answer your question. Do you know why I reside here, on this mountain?"

Marcus shook his head.

Paarthurnax said, "It is because this is the place Alduin was defeated by the ancient tongues. Perhaps none but me remember how he was originally defeated. The nords of the older days used Dragonrend to weaken him, to cripple him, but it was not enough. If it was, you would not be here today, seeking to defeat him."

"Then how?" Marcus asked, "How did they defeat him?"

"It was the… Kel." Paarthurnax said, in a quieter tone. "The Elder Scroll. That used it to… cast him adrifts on the winds of time."

"What is an Elder Scroll?" Marcus could swear he'd heard the word somewhere, but couldn't place it.

"Hmm.." Paarthurnax tilted his head in concentration, "how to explain it in your tongue? The Dov have words for such things that the joore do not… It is an artifact outside of time. Always existing, yet never existing. They have always been used for prophecy."

"Like my prophecy?"

"Yes," Paarthurnax nodded, "Your prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll."

"So," Marcus folded his arms, "You mean to say the ancient nords sent Alduin forward in time. To this time?"

"Not intentionally. Some hoped he'd be gone forever. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. I knew one day, he would surface. That's why I have lived here, for thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he'd emerge, but not when."

Marcus asked, "How does this help me?"

"Time was… shattered here, because of what the nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Elder Scrolls back here, to the Time Wound, the Tiid Ahraan, you would be able to… cast yourself back, to the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those that created it."

"I see." Marcus nodded, and chuckled to himself "So it isn't hopeless after all?"

"Nothing is hopeless, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax rumbled, "The circumstances of a situation do not effect hope."

"Hmm… I don't suppose you'd know where to find an Elder Scroll?" Marcus asked hopefully.

"Krosis, No." The Dragon shook his head. "I do not know much of what has passed in the world below. You are likely better informed than I"

"Alright..." Marcus thought to himself, assembling a list in his mind of potential helpers or people who might know. "I'll ask around, I have a few ideas."

"Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin." Paarthurnax said, "Your blood will show you the way. Do you have other questions?"

Marcus thought for a moment. He had heaps of questions, but most of them the Dragon probably didn't know. In any event, he doubted Paarthurnax would keep things from him. That didn't seem to be the Dragon's way.

"What does the Dragonrend actually do?"

"I cannot tell you in detail," Paarthurnax admitted. "I never heard it used. Kogaan. It was the first Thu'um created entirely by mortals. It was said to force a Dragon to experience the concept of mortality. A truly… vonmindoraan, incomprehensible concept to the immortal Dov."

 _Experience mortality?_ Marcus wondered, _How would that work?_

Marcus asked a few more questions about the scroll and what might happen at the time wound, before deciding it was time to leave.

"Many thanks, Paarthurnax," Marcus said, bowing to the old Dragon. "You've been generous and most helpful."

The Dragon bowed its head in return. "You are welcome, Dovahkiin."

Feeling that nothing more needed to be said, Marcus turned and walked out of the clearing, back to the path that lead down the mountain. Standing at the edge, just where it began to slow down, Marcus sighed. He felt tired, even more so than when he arrived, even though not a lot of time had passed.

While the talk with Paarthurnax had cleared up a great number of things, and made Marcus feel a bit better now that he had a proper plan of action, he had a feeling that things would be getting harder, before they got easier.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: A bit more story stuff this chapter. It's been a while since I covered any of that, so I figured it's about time.**

 **Going to do some stuff in Solitude next, then maybe I'll cover Blackreach. The solitude quests will cover a bit of relationship development with Jordis, and perhaps Elisif.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	24. Chapter 24

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 24 – A bit of Solitude

Marcus sat in the Blue Palace, off to the side of the main entry hall, on an ornate wooden chair. His right arm was resting across his legs, as he bandaged it. There was a large jagged cut snaking from the wrist to his elbow, courtesy of Potema's personal guardians. He'd healed the wound shortly after leaving the catacombs, but after he'd informed Falk Firebeard of the quelled danger, he'd stretched a bit too rigorously and the wound had split open. His healing magic hadn't been enough to seal the wound up entirely, it seemed.

In hindsight, it made sense. Fighting off Potema and her minions had been difficult to say the least, and had exhausted most of his magicka for at least a day. But hindsight was 20/20, in any event, so Marcus' didn't feel too stupid about it.

Regardless, the venture had been worth it. Falk had declared him officially pardoned, even though not many people knew Marcus was wanted in the first place.

As Marcus wrapped his arm up, Erikur entered the Palace through the main door, pushing open the entrance doors with a grander display than his status probably warranted. Upon seeing Marcus his expression shifted to one of distaste. Upon seeing Marcus' disheveled state, and his current action, the look of distaste grew more sour.

"Do you have to do that here?" Erikur demanded, walking up to Marcus and pointing at the young man's half-bandaged arm.

Marcus looked up at the angry thane, then down at his arm. "Well, I'm a pretty big fan of keeping my blood inside my body, so yes."

Erikur shook his head in digust. "I'll never understand why Falk didn't just throw you back in the dungeon again after you broke out."

Marcus shrugged, "Well, I guess we can add that to the list."

Erikur bristled, and tensed. He clenched his meaty hands into fists. Marcus noticed the action, and raised an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't want to attempt anything, if I were you." Marcus said, "Three words, and you're nothing but a pile of ashes on the floor."

"You wouldn't dare..." hissed Erikur.

"I haven't forgotten the four hours I spent in a cell, Erikur," Marcus chided, "Don't tempt me. I've killed more things today than you've eaten sweet rolls in the last week."

Erikur muttered something under his breath, and stormed off. Marcus watched the pompous thane go, before returning to his arm. He slowly wrapped the remaining length of white cloth around his arm, and fastened it in place with a little knot. He then reached into his pocket, and pulled out an apple.

Marcus knew he had a lot of things he should be doing, but none of them were too urgent. He also wanted to make sure his arm healed a bit before he left the city. Tearing open the wound again would probably turn it from a minor annoyance to a serious injury, so taking some R&R time was probably necessary. He had time to relax a little in the most lavish building in Skyrim. A minute later, Sybille Stentor walked up, and crossed her arms in front of him.

"Falk told me what you did for us." She stated, "How you sorted out the horrid business with Potema."

Marcus looked up, and confusion flickered across his features, "Um… ok?" He waited for her to actually state a question or something.

She gestured to his arm. "I've come to… tend to your injuries if you required it. I find it… distracting to have someone bleeding in the Palace."

"Oh," Marcus nodded, "it's fine. It's not bleeding anymore anyway, It was more of a flesh wound than anything else. I try not to use healing magic too often. Don't want to get too reliant on it and start tearing like paper."

"Good," Sybille abruptly turned, and walked away, her movements a little… strained. As if she was restraining herself. Marcus heard her mutter something about 'the scent' before she left the room. It was curious, but he devoted no more thought to it.

Marcus decided to change location. This seat seemed to be getting too much traffic. He wanted somewhere a bit quieter. Moving through the palace, Marcus made his way to a side room. It seemed to be more of a dining room, probably for servants. It had a balcony, overlooking the northern part of Solitude, which suited Marcus fine.

He sat himself down on the bench and looked out over the ocean. In the far distance, he could see the Solitude lighthouse, a twinkling flame atop. Marcus would've thought they'd extinguish it during the day, but what did he know? Maybe it had been really foggy that morning. He didn't know, he'd been underground at the time.

As Marcus sat there, he got somewhat bored, so he took fumbled around in his special book pouch, and withdrew one of the spell tomes he'd brought with him from the College. He instantly recognized the cover. It wasn't one from the College, it was one that had been with him for a long time. Transmute.

Despite the countless hours he'd sunk into studying it's pages, Marcus still couldn't understand the spell. He had a feeling he was getting close, but there was really no way of knowing. He'd spoken to Tolfdir, but the older man had gone unusually tight-lipped when concerning the spell. Other than telling Marcus not to show the book to anyone, he hadn't said anything.

This of course, just made Marcus that much more curious to know what the bloody thing was.

Flicking open the book, Marcus began studying the pages once more. He'd read the thing so many times, he'd practically memorized the text. It was strange, knowing something by heart, yet not having a clue what it actually meant.

His frustration was directed more at himself, than Tolfdir or anyone else. Despite his teachers at the college emphasizing his rapid learning and development, it never seemed enough for Marcus.

 _I ought to temper my knowledge with caution,_ thought Marcus, remembering Tolfdir's very first lesson, _but I since when has caution been important in my life?_

In reality, the dangers posed by magical over-learning was probably the least of his worries.

Marcus was so engrossed in his book, he didn't hear the footsteps of someone approaching. It was only when he heard someone clearing their throat politely, that he looked up. A faint frown was on his features. He'd appreciate a bit of alone time, but it seems that was not to be.

It was a woman, or girl, rather. She looked quite young, probably only about 18 or 19. She would've been pretty, with a certain 'petite' air about her, if she hadn't been so dirty. Her face was smudged with dirt and dust, and her slender hands had scratches and callouses.

"Umm..." she fiddled with her hands nervously, "I… Are you the one that… saved us from Potema?"

"Has news spread that fast?" Marcus asked, eyebrows arching, "It was only about 2 hours ago that I told Falk..."

"It's been spreading across Solitude like wildfire," the girl smiled shyly, "I wanted to see if the rumors were true..."

"Well, given the nature of rumors and how much people like to exaggerate, I'd have to say… no. They probably aren't true."

The girl blinked. "So you mean you didn't fight off a hundred draugr at once?"

Marcus chuckled, "No, not quite… it was more like 50, at about 5 at a time, with about 20 at the end. Plus Potema herself."

The girl gulped, her eyes widening slightly and her lips parting in an awed smile. "You say that like it makes it less impressive."

Marcus shrugged. He didn't like people making a big deal out of it. There was a situation that needed to be dealt with, so Marcus did so. It wasn't as if he could leave them all hanging, as it were.

"Don't mention it," Marcus said, smiling casually at her, "It's what I'm here for."

She tilted her head to the side, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm the Dragonborn," Marcus said plainly, assuming they already knew. "It's kinda supposed to be my 'thing', you know?"

The servant girl gave Marcus a funny look, her eyes widening with each passing second until they were almost comical. A pair of white dinner plates, came to mind. Marcus just stared back, awkwardly waiting for a response, beginning to wonder if he'd perhaps done something wrong. Then the girl collapsed forward, eyes rolling into the back of her head. Marcus was barely able to jump out of his seat and catch her.

The girl had fainted.

* * *

She woke up about 10 minutes later, in her own bed in the servant's quarters. Marcus sat beside her, reading through his book again.

Upon noticing her stirring, Marcus put the book down and looked at her.

"I..." the girl rubbed her head. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Marcus smiled, "I reacted pretty much the same way when I found out, too."

"My… my name's Erdi..." she said slowly, feeling introductions were in order.

"I know," Marcus nodded. "Your friend, Una, was nearby when you collapsed. She helped me get you here. You didn't think I automatically knew where your own bed was, did you?"

Erdi smiled shamefaced. _Of course not,_ she chided herself, _why would he know anything about you?_

"Anyway," Marcus brushed himself off and stood up. "I stuck around just to see if you were ok. Now that you are, I'll be going."

"Wait," Erdi said quickly, "Can… can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, I guess."

Erdi looked nervous. "A lot of things are said about you, and how you go about Skyrim. Do you really kill Dragons every day?..."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Goodness no, Erdi. Do you know how tiring that'd be? I'd die of exhaustion, if not from the Dragons themselves. It's more like once every week or two."

"How many places in Skyrim have you been?"

"That's two questions, but ok. I've been to every hold except Falkreath and the Reach."

"What's Riften look like?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at the volume of questions the young girl was spouting. Her eyes were excited, as if she was tracing his steps around Skyrim. "Umm… It's orange? The trees, I mean. There's no snow, and it all looks kinda like… the surface of a baked pie, in terms of colour."

"Wow..." Erdi breathed out a sigh, closing her eyes, no doubt imagining the colours herself. When she opened her eyes, they were far-away and wistful.

He went to go, but Erdi reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. Marcus looked back, a frown on his face. "Did you have another question?"

"Um," Erdi turned slightly red. "I do. Would you say… adventuring, is an easy task? Would anyone be able to do it?"

Marcus looked at her long and hard. He could tell what she was getting at. She had the same tone of voice, the same expression, as Erik had.

But Erik was a farmhand, who lifted heavy tools all day long and had probably almost as much stamina as Marcus did, if not skill. Erdi, on the other hand, was just a servant girl, with naive hope in her eyes. Whatever visions of grandeur she saw in Marcus' lifestyle, or the lifestyle of anyone who braved the roads and tombs of the unknown, weren't founded in reality.

"Erdi," Marcus began, "I'm probably not the best person to ask, I only have one life to draw knowledge from. But even that's enough for me to know that it's not for everyone. I've spent a great deal of the last 5 or so months in life-threatening situations. Most of these, if not all of them, would have killed a lesser skilled person."

Erdi looked downcast, but she seemed to accept his answer. Marcus walked away, stopping once at the doorway to look back and offer one last piece of wisdom.

"Everyone should have a chance to experience a life they want, but not at the cost of that life. In a perfect world, it wouldn't matter. But this isn't a perfect world. I'm a living testament to that fact. That said, exploring the world doesn't mean you have to pick a fight with everything in it, which is generally what I do."

"What do you mean?"

Marcus shrugged, "There's plenty of reasons not to go into a dark cave, but there isn't any reason not to go visit other cities and towns, or meet new people, if you wish."

Then he walked out, looking for a place that was quieter, where he wouldn't be bothered, leaving Erdi to imagine the world outside Solitude.

Marcus eventually found a place, in the Palace gardens. They were set to the side of the main entrance hall, out in the open through a few closed doors. It wasn't a large space, not as big as perhaps the entrance gardens out in the courtyard before entering the palace, but it was large enough for Marcus to sit down and read through his book again. He felt like he was making a bit of progress, which excited him.

There was a bit of a view, off to the side in the gardens. A small stone rail overlooked the same view Marcus had been watching earlier, of the northern sea. He situated himself near that view, on a small stone bench. About one minute later, he heard footsteps approaching him, and heard a distinct 'ahem' in a feminine voice.

"For the love of Akatosh!" Marcus cried, closing his eyes and throwing his hands up to the sky. "Can I not get a minute of peace?"

He opened his eyes to see the figure of his annoyance, Elisif.

Her eyes were widened in surprise, with a hint of growing incredulity. Instantly, Marcus shot upright and held his hands out apologetically.

"I'm so sorry!" he gasped, "I thought… I didn't know it was you, Queen Elisif. I'm really, really sorry."

"Hmm," the queen looked at him for a moment, then waved a dismissive hand at him. "It's ok. I understand if you're a bit… on edge. You've had a rough day."

"Indeed." Marcus nodded, chuckling to himself. "What do you require of me?"

Elisif sighed, "You can drop the formality, Marcus. After what you've done for us, it seems a bit pointless."

"As you wish, Queen Elisif."

"And stop calling me 'Queen'. In an official sense, that's not the case until Ulfric is brought to justice. Besides, after what you've done, a first-name basis is probably the least we could give you."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Apart from the pardon?"

She nodded, "Apart from that, of course."

"Very well, Que- Very well, Elisif."

The young woman walked over to the stone railing, looking out over the waters. Her posture relaxed, and she let out a sigh. Marcus didn't really know what she wanted, but he could tell that it wasn't something simple. The young lady looked beaten down, tired, all of a sudden. Her posture probably matched Marcus' in a sense. Slumped, weary, as if the world laid on her shoulders. Much different to the straight-backed, stern faced woman seen in the throne room.

Maybe it was just because the day was coming to a close, and today had been particularly tiring. The potential of Potema and her guardians running amok in the city would've been a particularly stressful dilemma. But… Marcus could see that she was struggling with something greater. A more, persistent issue.

"I have a question Marcus," she stated. "Probably the only question that really needs to be asked." She turned and looked him in the eyes. The sunset had turned the sky behind her red, as if she had her own personal halo of orange and crimson. "To what lengths would you go to protect the people of Skyrim?"

Marcus tilted his head sideways, caught off guard by the question somewhat. He then frowned, and considered it seriously.

"I'm not sure. I guess I'd go as far as I needed to."

Elisif nodded. "I expected as much, from the rumors I've heard."

"Don't place too much faith in rumors, Elisif," Marcus said sternly. "Most are based off lies, and conjecture. If I get cut, I bleed, just like everyone else. If the rumors most people spoke were true, I'd be hitting my head on every doorway."

Elisif nodded again. She seemed to be mustering up enough courage to say something, or admit something.

"Solitude is struggling." she began bluntly. "Potema was only the latest of a long line of problems. Banditry is on the rise, we've had travelers and merchants go missing, criminals have escaped – not referring to you there – ships raided by pirates, and to top it off, there's dragon attacks occurring at random locations around the hold."

"Hmm… tough break."

She nodded, "You don't know the half of it. Most of our resources go to the General for the war effort, and many of our soldiers are 'drafted' for his army. While I understand the need for the assistance in the war effort, we simply don't have what we need to re-secure the hold."

"Hmph," Marcus snorted, crossing his arms, "You allow the Empire to take away the swords defending your own citizens? And they wonder why Ulfric gets so much support..."

Elisif shot him a look. "It isn't optimal, Marcus. I know that. That's half the reason why I came to you." She took a step closer to him, brow furrowing. "But if your sympathies lie with the Eastern front, like that comment suggests, then we have nothing more to discuss."

"My 'sympathies' lie with the people of Skyrim," Marcus stated, "I have no interest in this war."

"Hmm..." Elisif looked at him strangely. "Well, I've come to ask you for your help. Solitude needs able bodied people, and I don't think anyone's more able-bodied than you."

Marcus shrugged, "I'll do what I can. But I'm not a miracle worker."

"On the contrary, I think you're as close to a miracle worker as we're ever likely to get."

Marcus shifted self-consciously. "Well… be that as it may, I can't just drop everything any run off to deal with every problem you have. I won't go into the details, but the Dragon crisis is a bit more of a dilemma than you've probably been briefed on, and it's my larger priority."

"I… I understand," Elisif nodded. "I don't want to 'hog' you, or anything. It's just… we really do need help with these problems."

"I know," Marcus nodded, "you, and the other half of Skyrim, it seems. I'll do what I can. No promises."

They lapsed into silence. Marcus continued to fidget. He found it uncomfortable being so close to someone of such political importance, not to mention beauty. Elisif looked more like one of those Queens you'd read about in storybooks. Elegant, and breathtakingly attractive.

"There's… another thing, I'd like your help with." Elisif began, somewhat unsure of herself.

"Yes?"

"When... Torygg died, and we buried him, we made offerings to all the Divines… except Talos." She reached into a pocket on her dress, and withdrew a small war-horn. "I'd like you to take this, a personal item of his, and take it to a shrine of Talos. Somewhere out of the way."

Marcus was surprised by this. "Isn't Talos worship outlawed? Are you saying that you worship Talos?"

Elisif glanced around subconsciously. "No, nothing like that… it's just… it's what Torygg would've wanted. It's the way Nords are buried here in Skyrim."

Marcus considered this for a moment, "I understand. I'd be honored to help. I know of a perfect location."

"Thank you, Marcus," Elisif breathed, looking down at her feet, "This… this really means a lot to me. I know it might make you a target of the Thalmor if you're caught with it, but -"

Marcus laughed, "Don't worry. I'm already as much of a target for the Thalmor as anyone's likely to get."

"Ah… true..." Elisif nodded to herself, looking at the horn with sad eyes. She seemed lost, her mind elsewhere, trawling through some old memory.

Marcus looked at the queen carefully, from a pair of concerned eyes. She seemed, smaller, somehow. More vulnerable. It seems the topic of her late husband was still a raw wound, a deep cut still visible in her heart.

Marcus walked up beside her, looking out over the ocean. "This is something Torygg asked for, isn't it?"

Elisif nodded sadly. "None of us were happy with the concordat."

Marcus leaned on the railing, looking out over the evening ocean. "It makes you wonder. What are the real reasons half this province is fighting the other?"

"Ulfric needs to be put to justice." Elisif responded firmly.

Marcus nodded slowly, "Indeed. It's just… Ulfric isn't the one dying, or fighting."

Elisif set her jaw, "He will be."

Marcus wasn't so sure. The war had been practically a stalemate for months. At this rate, there wouldn't be any fighting men left in Skyrim before either side gained any significant ground. Meanwhile, men died all across the province in skirmishes, for no other reason than that the other side is wearing a different set of armour. How similar were the individual soldier's hopes and ideals?

It wasn't Marcus' place to think about these sorts of things, but that didn't stop him. He'd seen a few skirmishes from a distance in his travels. In a literal and metaphorical sense, when you took a few steps back, the whole thing seemed… a waste. War wasn't an answer. Or at least, it wasn't the answer to this problem.

"Well, I'd better get going," Marcus said eventually, reaching forward and taking the war-horn. He turned on his heel and left the garden area. Elisif watched him go, before turning back and continuing to look out over the view.

* * *

Marcus shifted closer to his campfire. Even though Whiterun hold was probably the warmest hold in the province, he still appreciated the extra heat. Plus, the fire was a good source of light, which helped him study the spell tome.

He could tell he was close. He'd studied for most of the carriage trip to Whiterun, and had determined that he'd need iron ore in order for the spell to function properly, so he'd bought it from Adrianne. Marcus was yet to figure out why iron was needed, but he hoped he'd find out soon. The book was open in his left hand, the iron ore in his lap, and in his right hand, swirled the green energy he'd been able to manifest.

As far as he could tell, the spell somewhat changed the properties of the metal, or changed the properties of something on his person, and thus required the metal. If Marcus had to guess, he'd say it was a kind of magical armour spell. Probably something about making the caster have iron-like skin temporarily. Still, Marcus wasn't going to settle with mere conjecture. He was going to figure out what this spell did, and he was going to do it tonight.

Closing his eyes and concentrating, Marcus focused and poured magicka into his right hand, the green light growing progressively brighter with each second. With a twist and flick of his fingers, he splayed open his hand and released the energy in the spell.

A warmth blasted over him originating from the ore, and when Marcus opened his eyes, a soft glow visible in front of him.

The iron ore, had turned to silver ore.

Marcus stared blankly at the block of metal for a few moments. His brain a bit slower to interpret what its eyes were showing him. He couldn't believe it. He actually couldn't. That couldn't be what the spell did. He must've just picked up a block of silver ore from Adrianne's forge and not realized until now… Surely.

There was one way to find out, though. He grabbed another chunk of ore from his bag, a spare in case he did something wrong with the experiment, and placed it beside the silver ore. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a magicka potion. Gulping it down, he called the green magic into his hand once more. After a minute's concentration, he released the magical spell and opened his eyes. He'd been expecting the iron ore to change to silver, or nothing to happen at all. Neither of these options actually happened. The silver ore wasn't silver anymore. It was gold.

He thought blankly, _I… I just turned iron to gold…_

He stared at it for a moment, a curious frown creeping across his face. Then the actual gravity of what he had just done, and thus what he could now do, hit him. Then Marcus started laughing. He laughed harder, and harder, to the point where he was almost shrieking.

Of all the people to have access to unlimited wealth, he was the one person that had done it. He, the one man who spent most of his time galavanting around the province, away from the luxuries of civilization, now had potentially unlimited wealth. Sure, it'd be useful, but only to a certain extent. It wasn't as if he could 'retire' until the Dragons had been dealt with, and who knows if he'd even survive, or if that was even possible?

Marcus rolled over, and sat up, gasping for air. He looked down a the block of gold ore next to him, and turned it over in his hands. As far as he could tell, the thing was entirely transformed, if it's weight was anything to go by.

Marcus moved over, and placed the gold block next to the book, before unrolling his bedroll. Exciting as the prospect of turning iron to gold was, he felt rather drained after the ordeal, and felt getting some rest was probably in order.

Marcus figured he'd get to the shrine early the next morning, and he'd probably be back in Solitude late the following evening, if he took another carriage ride. He reached over and examined the war-horn he'd been given. It was a simple enough thing, a few nordic-style symbols carved in each end, and most likely crafted from horker tusk. Marcus wondered why it was significant to Torygg. A family heirloom, perhaps? The texture was smooth, as if it had been held and turned over in the hands of someone else, many times. It was probably Elisif, who had done that, Marcus figured. If it was something personal of Torygg's, she'd probably been fond of the item after his death. A memento, in all likelihood.

Marcus' thoughts drifted to Elisif. The young woman seemed stern, but those few moments on the garden balcony indicated another side to her. In speaking of her husband, and the troubles facing Solitude, she'd seemed almost… afraid. Afraid of the future. Marcus knew how that felt. His future was so potentially scary he made conscious efforts to avoid thinking about it.

 _How old is Elisif?_ Marcus wondered. She didn't look that old, probably older than Marcus, but then most people in Marcus' life were older than him. The pressures of running an entire hold, and potentially half the province, would be a terrible thing. If the burden on her shoulders was relative to what laid on Marcus' shoulders, she was probably coming apart at the seams.

Regardless, there was nothing Marcus could do to help her, apart from what he was doing right now. So he rolled onto his back and laid against the soft fabric, staring up at the sky and waiting for sleep to embrace him.

* * *

"Kneel, Marcus," Elisif commanded.

Marcus complied, nervously getting down onto one knee. He averted his eyes, staring at the scuffed carpet in front of him. He studied the pattern of the woven cloth in an effort to distract him from the nerve-wracking nature of the situation he was in. The entire court of Solitude had gathered, to witness his… inauguration? Promotion? Marcus wasn't sure what word sufficed. In his mind, he just called it a gigantic unnecessary ceremony to commemorate him receiving a title that he didn't think he deserved. The only advantage of the situation was that Erikur's face had an unchanging look of disbelieving horror.

Elisif cleared her throat, standing over Marcus. There was a lot more… ceremony attached to becoming a thane in Solitude, than in Whiterun, it seemed.

"In response to the services you've provided the Hold, Marcus…" Elisif paused for a moment, not knowing what Marcus' last name was.

"Lavernius..." Marcus said quietly.

"Marcus Lavernius," Elisif nodded, continuing, "I hearby name you Thane of Haafingar. I grant you a personal housecarl to guard you and your home, as well as a weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office. I will inform the people of Solitude during the next public ocassion."

Elisif motioned to Falk, who brought forward an ornate sword wrapped in red cloth. He placed it in front of Marcus, who reached out and grasped it, holding it to his side.

"You may stand now, Marcus" Falk whispered to him.  
Marcus stood up, feeling very unstable on his feet. All eyes were on him. He felt like he should say something, some kind of speech about the importance of Solitude to Skyrim, or how honored he was.

But Marcus didn't want to say anything like that. While his mind had drawn a bit of a blank in any event, he wasn't the kind to curry favor from the assembled court. This was a formality, he told himself. There was nothing to it. Instead, he just bowed briefly to Elisif, clutched the sword of Haafingar in his hand.

"Thank you," he said shortly, before turning and walking away. The court was a little stunned by the lack of words, but none raised any concerns of voiced their opinions. They just watched him walk out.

Marcus made his way to his new home. Proudspire Manor. As far as houses went, this one was probably amongst the best of them. It had taken almost all of his collective wealth in both Breezehome and what he carried around on himself to purchase it, and the furnishings were acquired after the utilization of a particular spell Marcus had recently learned…

He knew he couldn't go completely crazy with the transmute spell, given that it would inevitably flood the market with gold and devalue it's worth, while also raising eyebrows about how he'd managed to come into that much of the substance. Nonetheless, it was still very handy to have, even if it did take Marcus most of an entire night to get a decent amount of the metal converted. His skill with alteration magic still wasn't great, so it was a rather draining process.

Marcus pushed open the door to Proudspire Manor, and stepped inside. He'd only spent one night in the place, so he was still rather taken aback by how… nice... the place was.

It had almost everything he'd conceivably need. Enchanting, alchemy, even a few workbenches, and a gigantic bed that Marcus jokingly told himself he'd be able to fit at least 5 women in.

The joke was on Marcus though… he only knew about four.

Marcus went downstairs, and unwrapped the sword of Haafingar. It was made of tempered steel, from the looks of it. It had an ornate handle, with engravings and a sapphire inlaid into the hilt. The blade was long and thin, with very little weight.

In truth, it wasn't a fighting weapon. That much was obvious. It was more of a ceremonial thing, designed to go with the flamboyant outfits that many of the 'upper class' would wear on social occasions. Marcus didn't consider himself upper class, so he made a mental note to never wear it unless he was certain he wouldn't be ending up in a fight. This basically meant he'd never wear it.

He placed it on a rack in the basement, visible just above his enchanting table, before heading back upstairs. As his head climbed up, step by step, and he got a glance into the main room, he was surprised by the sight of a woman standing there. She was in a full set of steel equipment, examining a window frame.

"Umm… Hello?" Marcus walked into the room.

"Oh!" the woman turned around to face Marcus, quick enough for her hair to spin and float around her face for a moment.

Marcus was almost floored. She was beautiful. Almost exactly like what he'd always imagine a fairy-tale princess to look like, except in armour. She had long, semi-braided hair, reaching down to her shoulders, accentuating her piercing blue eyes, which had a slightly narrowed look. Her skin was pale, and her face was slightly angular. Her expression seemed a cross between serious and curious. Marcus found that feature alone, exceptionally cute.

She said something, but Marcus didn't hear. He was dazed for a moment, wondering why this blonde beauty was standing in his living room. Then he blinked, and shook his head slightly to clear away the rampant confusing thoughts running wild through his head.

"Uh, I'm sorry?" Marcus said in a voice of timidity ill-fitting of a Dragonborn, "Did you say something?"

"Yes," the woman stepped forward and bowed slightly, her left hand forming a fist which she placed over her chest. "I am Jordis, your housecarl."

Marcus stared for a minute. "You're joking."

"Um..." she shook her head, blonde hair flying about in a mesmerizing pattern. "I am not. Elisif just informed me of your recent inauguration, my thane. I have been assigned to you."

She looked at him, a tinge of concern on her face, interpreting Marcus' words as disappointment.

Marcus, himself, was reeling. What were the chances that both of his housecarls would turn out to be immensely beautiful? The gods must have fun toying with his soul.

"Umm..." Marcus forced himself to take a deep breath and clear his head. "I… Um… Yes. Ok. Right. I'll… uh. I'll show you to your room, I guess." He beckoned for her to follow him.

He led her upstairs, to the guest bedroom. He opened the door, and waited for her to look inside.

"What?" Jordis exclaimed, "this is the guest bedroom? My thane, I can't sleep here."

Marcus looked at her blankly. "Why not? Do you… have something against guest bedrooms?"

"It's a room for guests," she explained, frowning, "I can't sleep here. I'm a servant. What'll happen if you have guests over?"

"Ok," Marcus nodded slowly, "I'm going to forget that you just called yourself a servant for the moment, and answer your question. If I have guests over, they'll sleep in my bed, since it's bigger. Isn't that what you do? To be courteous?"

"Where will you sleep, in that case?"

Marcus shrugged, "I dunno, I'll pick a couch, or something."

"What?" Jordis sounded more incredulous. "You're a thane of Solitude! You can't sleep on a couch!"

Marcus smiled at her, the startled look on her face making her seem all the cuter. "About 50% of the horizontal surfaces in this house are more comfortable than what I generally sleep on. I think I'd be fine." Marcus thought for a moment, considering something. "In any event, I can't actually think of anyone who'd actually visit me and be deemed a 'guest'."

Now it was Jordis' turn to be a stunned. She'd been given a brief description of Marcus, and his deeds, by Falk. She'd assumed she'd get the full picture from Marcus himself. Now, it seems the blanks he was filling in weren't what she anticipated.

Regardless, she had her duty to consider. "Ahem, of course, my thane. As you wish."

"Oh wait," Marcus clicked his fingers, something having just occurred to him, "I'm going to have to do that whole thing again."

"What?"

"Okay," Marcus began, using his hand to count off things to tell her. "First, my name isn't 'My Thane', it's Marcus. So call me that instead. Second, no bowing to me. Third, feel free to refuse any order I give you unless we're in a fight, and be sure to let me know if you feel I'm doing anything wrong or stupid."

Jordis stared at him somewhat blankly. She had not been expecting this in the slightest. She wasn't particularly disappointed, but when she'd been told her new thane was the heralded Dragonborn… she'd thought of someone more… unapproachable. Marcus wasn't even taller than she was.

Marcus smiled nervously, "That last point is probably the most applicable, to be honest."

"I… I will do as you wish, Marcus." Jordis went to bow her head, but stopped herself.

"Thank you." Marcus stretched, and walked into his room. "Feel free to help yourself to any food around the place. When they furnished it yesterday, they loaded up the larder for some reason, so there's plenty around. I'm going to have a rest. I've had a pretty big day."

Then Marcus closed the door to his bedroom, leaving Jordis standing in the hallway with her mouth slightly open, awfully uncertain as to the sort of person her thane was. The only thing she knew, was that he wasn't what she expected.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: For a visual reference to what Jordis looks like, or what I've tried to sculpt her as looking like, just have a look at the Bijin Warmaidens mod. It's basically the same.** **Feel free to give me feedback, or offer ideas on how you'd like Jordis to behave/sound like. I've got a general idea in my head, but nothing too set in stone. I was thinking more like Lydia, except younger in attitude.** **The bit with Erdi was an afterthought, but I wanted to add it because of what I'm thinking for a later chapter…**

 **T** **hank you for reading.**


	25. Chapter 25

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 25 – Hostage Negotiations

"How many Dragons have you fought?"

"I don't know. I don't keep track."

"Do you speak their tongue fluently?"

"No."

"How many shouts have you learned?"

"About 15? Not too sure. I tend to only remember them specifically when I need them."

Jordis frowned at Marcus. They were walking through Solitude back to Breezehome after a particular event concerning a talkative beacon and a temple full of shadowy wraiths. Jordis had been throwing questions at Marcus for the whole trip, and he'd been successfully failing to answer them in any satisfying manner.

Jordis placed a finger on her small chin in a thoughtful pose as they walked. "I would've thought you'd be more organized, in terms of your… Dragonborn-ness."

"What?" Marcus' faced scrunched up with confusion. "What kind of a statement is that? Do you keep tabs on everything you do that's related to being entirely human?"

"Umm..." Jordis didn't know how to answer. "I… no?"

Marcus nodded in satisfaction, "Exactly."

They walked in silence for a bit longer, Marcus clearly thinking about something. He didn't want to come off too crass or gruff to Jordis, so he decided to do a bit of self-deprecating defense.

"I mean," Marcus continued, "I've never been the most organized person. I'll be the first to admit that, it's just that at the moment, I have bigger things on my mind."

"Hmm..." Jordis nodded to herself. After another moment of walking in silence, she gasped in realization. "I've been asking way too many questions, haven't I?"

Marcus smiled, "It's ok. I don't mind too much. It's only natural." Marcus placed a hand on his chest, and got into an overly-heroic pose. "I am a one-of-a-kind hero of the world, after all."

Jordis smiled, and rolled her eyes, something she'd never have considered doing to her thane in the past. "Yeah, right."

Marcus said, "No, I'm being serious."

Jordis frowned, unsure whether to take Marcus at his word. "Are… are you actually not joking right now?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at her. _She honestly doesn't know?_ He thought in confusion, _I suppose that makes sense, she hasn't seen Alduin's Wall…_

Marcus looked at her, and recited the same words that had blown his life to pieces. "When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding. The World Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."

Jordis blinked in confusion at the archaic language, before her mind caught up to the interpretation of the words. "You're… you're that same 'Last Dragonborn?"

"Yep."

Jordis looked a little stunned. She stopped walking and rested a hand on a nearby stone wall. "I mean..." she took a deep breath, "I knew you had something to do with the Dragons, their return coinciding with your… 'reveal'… but I didn't know it was so… serious."

"I thought the same thing," Marcus admitted, "I thought I was just meant to… assist the whole thing. I never would've thought I was entirely responsible."

"I can't imagine what that must be like…" Jordis shook her head in amazement, staring at the ground. "To know the whole world rests on your shoulders alone..."

Marcus stiffened slightly. He turned away suddenly and put his back to Jordis. "I… I'd rather if you didn't mention that." His tone was firmer, and less warm. "It makes me… It's not a thing I like to think about."

Jordis' face looked a bit surprised, and concerned, but she didn't bring it up further. She just closed her mouth, and they kept walking. They reached Proudspire Manor, and moved inside. Marcus went to go put Dawnbreaker in a secure location downstairs, before heading up onto the balcony for a bit of rest.

After about 10 minutes, Jordis came out.

"I… I want to apologize for what I said earlier," she began in a hesitant tone. "I didn't mean to remind you of anything you don't want to be reminded of."

Marcus sighed, "It's fine. It's the sort of thing I should get used to thinking about, don't feel bad."

Jordis attempted a reassuring smile, "Well, to make it up to you, I'll cook tonight."

Marcus shook his head, "You did that last night. I'll take care of it tonight."

"It's a housecarl's duty, Marcus." Jordis pouted. "You seem to be almost impossible to keep out of danger, so allow me to at least fulfill one of my obligations."

Marcus' tone got quieter, more desperate. "Please allow me to cook…"

Jordis took a step back, a confused frown on her face at Marcus' almost… guilty tone. Then, a dawning realization began to creep onto her features. "Are you… do you think my cooking is bad?"

Marcus couldn't meet her gaze. He looked at his feet. "Um… no! Of course not."

But Jordis' feminine intuition couldn't be led astray. She leaned forward and poked him on the arm. "You do! That's why you wanted to cook tonight!"

Marcus pointed behind her in alarm. "Look! The Lighthouse has gone out!"

"Oh no," Jordis shook her head, "You can't dodge the situation like that." She wouldn't normally speak want to speak to her thane like this, but her nordic pride had been insulted.

"I'm being serious!" Marcus exclaimed. "Look behind you for a second, the Lighthouse isn't burning."

Jordis turned around, risking a short glance. Marcus was right. The bonfire at the top of the Lighthouse wasn't burning.

"That's odd," Jordis frowned, temporarily forgetting about Marcus' insult. "It's always supposed to be burning..."

"Let's go investigate it!" Marcus said suddenly, brushing past Jordis and hurrying into the house to retrieve his weapons. Rest could wait.

Jordis turned, and frowned at the space Marcus had last been seen in. The Lighthouse fire being unlit was an issue worth investigating, but she was certain that wasn't why Marcus was so eager to head down there.

The conversation about cooking would have to continue at another time.

* * *

"Why is it always lit, anyway?" Marcus asked. "That doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Shouldn't you only need it like that at night?"

"It's easier to maintain a fire than continuously keep lighting one." Jordis said, shrugging. "It consumes more wood, but we're guaranteed that it keeps burning."

"Well, that guarantee hasn't worked, evidently."

"Hmm..."

They approached the structure. There didn't seem to be anyone around. Marcus looked up at the large stone tower. He could just see the tip of the wood stack at the top.

He said, "Why don't you use a magical fire?"

"A what?" Jordis didn't understand.  
"You know," Marcus scratched his head, "Use an enchantment, or an alteration spell to create light at the top, rather than burning wood."

Jordis blinked, face blank. "I… I don't know. I wasn't aware that kind of magic existed?"

"Every kind of magic exists," Marcus stated, walking up the first set of stairs. "If there's any theoretical application, magic can do it. It's just that more often than not, that kind of magic hasn't been discovered yet."

Jordis followed him up the stairs, twisting around and around as they continued up. "Do you know that sort of magic?"

"You mean chromatic magic? Kinda. It's fairly basic alteration magic, but it wouldn't be enough to stick on top of a lighthouse. I'm pretty good, but I'm not that good"

They walked up in silence, until they reached the top. Marcus approached the stack of wood, examining it closely.

"It hasn't gone out naturally," he mused.

Jordis walked up and looked at it closely. Surprise and confusion in her eyes, "It's been doused. Why has it been doused?"

The wood was soaked in water. Someone had made a lot of trips up and down the stairs with a bucket of water, and had poured it over the wood.

Marcus looked away from the wood, and out to the ocean. His brow furrowed in concentration. "Do you know if any ships are due to dock at Solitude tonight?"

"No," she shook her head, "But I wouldn't be surprised, they do come in fairly regularly."

"I think it was pirates." Marcus stated plainly. "They're trying to get a ship to run aground on the rocks east of Morthal, on the other side of the channel."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? They're going to kill everyone aboard, and claim the cargo themselves, away from the authorities and without the need for a ship of their own."

Jordis's face went from shock, to anger, to determination. Eventually she glanced out to the ocean, then back at Marcus.

"We need to stop them."

Marcus nodded, "Yes." He walked over to the edge of the Lighthouse, already scanning the horizon for ships. "How fast can you swim?"

* * *

The answer was not fast enough. For either of them. By the time they'd got to the other side of the channel, a ship had already fallen victim to the pirate's scheme. It must've entered the channel before they even started swimming, because by the time they'd reached the other side in the late evening, a medium sized vessel had hit the shore.

Marcus and Jordis, shivering from the cold water, and quickly crept up to the ship. There were a lot of footprints in the mud and sand, Marcus noticed. A lot of people had been moving around. He had the feeling they'd gotten here too late.

There was a large ramp leading up onto the deck. As they crept up it, Marcus overheard voices.

He whispered to Jordis. "Stay here."

She went to protest, but a look from Marcus silenced the words before they were voiced. Slowly, Marcus crept over the railing, and onto the deck. There was a small… shack, of sorts, protruding from the deck of the ship, covering the stairs that led down into the rest of the ship. Marcus could hear two voices coming from inside the little structure.

He slowly drew his dagger, keeping it in his right hand, and took a quick breath. Then he jumped up and ran forward in a brief burst of speed. Entering the structure at a sprint, Marcus saw two men with their backs to him, chatting atop the stairs leading into the insides of the ship.

They heard his footsteps, and began to turn, but Marcus was already upon them. He grabbed one of them by the back of their shirt, and buried his dagger into the side of their neck. The wide-bladed glass weapon opened up a vicious cut in the flesh, and blood practically sprayed out. The other man let out a surprised scream, reaching for his mace at his belt.

Marcus finished him off with a quick slash to the throat. Both men crumpled to the ground, dead. Marcus walked back out onto the deck, and beckoned to Jordis to come aboard. She followed him down below deck, Marcus in front.

As Marcus slowly walked through the various rooms and hallways, something became apparent rather quickly.

"This isn't a cargo ship," Marcus noted, peeking into the side-rooms and seeing nothing but beds and dressers. "This is… or was, rather, a passenger ship."

Jordis frowned, "So where are the passengers?"

Marcus chewed his lip, as they moved down another set of stairs. "I have a feeling, before this is over, you'll regret you asked."

They moved down to the bilge of the ship, where they could see a few barrels and crates with provisions inside. They still hadn't come across anyone else. No bodies, apart from the two Marcus created.

"The hell happened to the crew? Or the passengers? Or the boarders?" Jordis frowned in confusion.

Marcus said, "I've got a bit of an idea, but I'm not too sure..."

They were silent for a moment, and the silence allowed them to hear a brief 'squeak' as the floorboards above them moved under the weight of someone's footsteps. They each glanced at each other, before turning and running back up the stairs toward the source of the noise.

They burst into a bedroom, the Captain's quarters by the look of it, to catch a third pirate rifling through a drawer. An argonian female, who promptly looked up, stunned as to the two armed people rushing into the same room.

The three people stood still for a moment, each one taking the situation in at their own pace. Marcus was the first to recover, darting forward and smashing his elbow on the jaw of the pirate. The pirate collapsed, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Jordis moved forward, drawing her sword. Marcus reached out sideways and stopped her, his left arm pressing against her chest in a… semi compromising location. Marcus moved his arm away quick enough to not make a point of it.

"Leave him. We'll want to know where they took the rest."

"The rest?" Jordis tilted her head quizzically, as Marcus picked up the unconscious argonian and slung her over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," Marcus said as he began to walk back up to the deck, carrying the pirate. "Pirates douse the Lighthouse, in the hopes of running a ship aground. When they get on the ship, they find it full of nothing but people. Travelers, nobles, families, whatever. No actual loot. They could massacre everyone, and leave, but then they'd gain nothing from the whole thing. Instead, they decide to capture all of the passengers, take them somewhere, and then ransom the whole lot to Solitude."

Jordis' face fell. Secretly she'd been hoping the ship was empty, or there was some other explanation. But what Marcus was saying made sense. Pirates like this didn't have morals, nor did they care about how they obtained what they wanted. If ransoming a boatload of innocent people was the only current way they could make the money they wanted, why wouldn't they take that chance?

"You're sure about this?" Jordis asked, a fearful expression growing on her face.

Marcus answered, "I'm 95 percent sure. Did you see all those footprints in the mud outside? That must have been from all the foot traffic that moving a bunch of presumably tied together prisoners would generate."

Jordis nodded in understanding, as they emerged into the sunlight once more. Marcus dropped the pirate, found some rope to tie her up, and then kicked her in the leg a few times to wake her.

"What if she doesn't tell you anything?" Jordis looked worried.

Marcus glanced briefly at her. "She will."

The woman mumbled something, and slowly came to. She glanced up, and saw the two figures standing over him.

"You're too late, and you'll get nothing from Deeja." She spat.

Marcus sighed, rubbing his head. He'd expected such a response, but deep down, a piece of him was still disappointed.

Jordis glanced at him, unsure as to how they should proceed. She wouldn't stand for torture, she considered it barbaric, but there didn't seem to be any other way of making the this 'Deeja' talk.

"Jordis," Marcus said simply, "please cover your ears."

"What?"

Marcus looked at her, "please cover your ears. This'll only take a second."

Jordis didn't know what to say, but complied anyway, cupping her hands over her ears, watching Marcus with a confused expression.

Marcus looked back at Deeja. He took a step closer to her, and seemed to say something. A red wispy energy burst from his mouth and seemed to enter the pirate's body. A half-second later, the pirate opened her mouth and her eyes widened in sheer terror.

Jordis uncovered her ears, to hear the sound of the pirate screaming her head off. She looked so scared she was almost manic, desperately trying to crawl away from Marcus but not having much success because she was bound.

Marcus walked up to Jordis and said quietly, "She'll be much more compliant now, just ask her where the others are quickly, the shout only lasts a minute."

"I… what did..." Jordis looked somewhat stunned, but started nodding after a few seconds. "Ok… I'll go do that, I guess."

Marcus smiled reassuringly at her, and patted her shoulder before walking off down to the shore. Jordis asked the pirate a few questions, to which she answered with such eagerness and desperation she wondered whether Marcus had literally turned her into a different person.

What Marcus had assumed was correct. The pirates had been surprised to find a passenger ship instead of a cargo ship. Not wanting go back home empty handed, they decided to capture the occupants, many of which were fairly wealthy nobles, and send a ransom letter to Solitude a day later. The location they had taken the captives to, was Broken Oar Grotto, a large underground watery cave system to the north easy of Solitude. It contained roughly 30 men, and the 20 odd captives.

Jordis had gotten all the answers she needed after about 50 seconds had passed. After a minute, the female blinked, and shook her head slightly to clear it. Then she looked up at Jordis with a sour, hate-filled expression.

"You bastards!" she shouted, "You'll never win anyway! We're too many for two people."

"Hmmm..." Jordis smiled slyly, "more like one and a half."

Then she left her there, tied up on the deck of the ship. No doubt the Solitude guards would be over later on that day, or maybe the day after. They'd be able to deal with the pirate easy enough.

Marcus was waiting down on the shore, sitting on a rock and fiddling with his dagger. He looked up as Jordis approached.

"Did we get what we needed?"

Jordis nodded, "Broken Oar Grotto, northeast of Solitude. That's where they are at."

"Right," Marcus stood up and brushed his hands. "I guess it's a rescue mission."

"Hold up," Jordis grabbed Marcus' arm. "We need to talk about what you did there."

"What, the thing I said?" Marcus looked surprised. "It's called 'Dismay', it's a Thu'um. I normally use it in combat to make opponents run off. It just makes them really, really scared."

"So that's it?" Jordis asked, "It just makes them terrified of you for a minute then wears off? It doesn't damage them or anything?"

"No, Jordis," Marcus shook his head, "Although I'm not sure whether these pirates are undeserving of torture, I'm not the kind of person to use it."

"Ok," Jordis nodded to herself, "thank you. I'm sorry… I – I just wanted to be sure."

Marcus patted her on the shoulder friendly-like, "Don't apologize, you did nothing wrong."

Then the two walked off, seeking the entrance to the Grotto.

* * *

Broken Oar Grotto had an unassuming entrance, but was absolutely gigantic on the inside. Marcus was stunned as to how large the cavern truly was. You could sail an entire ship inside here, with room to spare.

They moved through the first part of the cavern, coming across random pairs of pirates, guarding piles of goods or bridges. The pair moved through the cavern with minimal difficulty. They weren't expecting anyone, and most were tired after a long day of moving prisoners about.

Marcus surprised Jordis with his ability to move quickly and quietly. Despite the various metals attached to his armour, it didn't make a whole lot of noise when he moved. After an instance where he managed to sneak up behind two pirates and eliminate them silently, she asked how he was able to do it.

"Three things," he answered. "First, a magic spell that muffles movement. Second, practice. Third, well-crafted armour."

Jordis ran her eyes over Marcus' armour once again. It didn't look like anything she'd seen before. "Who crafted it?"

Marcus said, "I did, for the most part."

Jordis blinked in surprise. Marcus was turning out to be quite the jack of all trades, in her eyes.

They fought through the majority of the cavern without gaining any serious wounds, Marcus using his healing magic to get rid of any scratches that the pair accumulated.

Then they saw the end of the cavern. It culminated in a huge open underground lake, with a rocky pathway and bridge stretching from one side to the other, where a large wooden structure was built into the side of the rock wall. At the bottom of this structure was a large ship, easily the size of the ship they'd seen run aground on the shore.

"How the hell did they get the ship in here?" Marcus wondered aloud, staring at the space. "The entrance was only a few metres tall."

"Perhaps it used to be bigger?" Jordis mused, "then a cave-in trapped the ship inside?"

"Mmm," Marcus nodded, "Maybe."

Jordis tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. "See there? The people tied up?"

Marcus followed the direction she was pointing, and saw that on the deck of the ship, tied around the mast and to the rowing tables, were the people from the passenger boat. There was no mistaking them, their bright, noble clothes and general despairing stature left no room for misinterpretation.

Jordis and Marcus crept up the rock bridge that arched over the cavern. At it's highest point, it was just above the bow of the ship down below. With a good run and jump, someone could make their way down to the boat, provided they survived the fall.

"Hmm..." Marcus judged the distances, and examined the wooden structure. He could see plenty of pirates and marauders milling about inside it. Probably around 6 or 7, with about 5 on the ship itself. There may have been more. It was hard to tell at this distance.

If he and Jordis tried to fight their way down through the structure, as the stone path they were currently on led to its top, odds were the captives might end up getting hurt, or used as human shields. Securing the boat would be the ideal first action.

"What's the plan?" Jordis asked. She really hoped Marcus had an idea. He chewed his lip again, kneeling down and examining the area closely. After a few more seconds, he nodded.

"Ok," he began, "I'll need you to head across and deal with as many of the bad guys on the wooden structure as possible. Don't worry about keeping quiet, their attention won't be directed on the path. Odds are, you won't face too much resistance anyway."

Jordis' face slowly began to crease, and she looked at Marcus from under a furrowed, cautious brow. "W… What are you planning?"

Despite the situation he was in, Marcus couldn't help but grin guiltily. "Something that you'll no doubt chastise me for later on."

Then Marcus walked over to the edge of the stone, took a quick deep breath, and leapt off.

Now, Jordis had never seen Marcus use the 'Become Ethereal' shout. Even if he had, Jordis wouldn't have known it negated a long fall. Marcus hadn't been in a situation with her where it was necessary to use it, and he hadn't really told her about any of his shouts, except the ones that he'd used in her presence. In hindsight, Marcus probably should've given her a brief run-down of what he had planned, but he just didn't think of it, at the time. A regrettable decision.

Thus, in Jordis' eyes, what Marcus did was basically jump off a bridge to his death.

"Marcus!" she screamed, dashing forward in an attempt to catch him, but was too slow. She stared down at what she could only assume was an insane man, as he plummeted toward the bow of the ship below.

Then, a shout rang out, and Marcus' falling body turned blue and transparent, right before smashing into the deck. When she saw him stand up, ethereal but otherwise unharmed, she felt immense relief. She hadn't failed her duty, yet. Even so, she made a promise to herself to grill him very hard for pulling such a stunt later on.

Marcus, himself, had no time to think upon what he'd just did. He'd landed in the middle of the 5 guards, who were staring at him in complete confusion, as were the prisoners. Marcus smiled at them, then frowned.

"Wait," he said, thinking hard, "I had something for this..."

The pirates didn't give him a chance to think of it, and charged immediately. Marcus took down the two furthest from the prisoners with a chain lightning bolt, before ducking under the axe swipe of a third. He drew his sword in his right hand while simultaneously punching the third pirate with his left hand, before parrying away a sword thrust from a fourth pirate and headbutting him in the centre of his unprotected face. Marcus hadn't mastered the technique entirely, and it ended up hurting his face a little. Farkas made it look easy.

The fifth pirate scored a lucky hit on Marcus' arm, but the armour plating reduced it to little more than a cut. Marcus promptly spun around and slashed him across the throat, before diving forward and rolling to get away from the other three who were surrounding him. He kept his momentum, rising from the roll and getting back onto his feet. Spinning around, Marcus saw the three pirates running toward him. Instead of letting them come to him, Marcus took a long step forward and met the pirates head-on, a metre before they anticipated to get into sword's reach.

He cut them down fairly easily, they only managed another small cut on his thigh. As their bodies hit the deck, something in Marcus' mind clicked, and he stamped his foot in frustration.

"Damn it! 'Dropping in' That's what I was thinking of..."

The prisoners tied up around the ship looked at him with wide eyes, some were hopeful at the prospect of being rescued, others were amazed at how someone could be so nonchalant after killing 5 men.

"Uh..." Marcus tried to flash them a reassuring smile. "Be with you in a minute."

Then he drew his dagger in his left hand, before running up onto the small makeshift dock that was at the bottom of the wooden structure, sprinting upward to fight through the rest of the pirates, and give Jordis a hand.

The pirates were divided, with three heading down to deal with Marcus, and the rest heading up to deal with Jordis. Marcus worried in the back of his mind whether or not she could handle the pirates, but Jordis had proved to be very competent in Kilkreath and against wild animals, so he had faith.

After cutting through three pirates, Marcus ran up a walkway into the largest of the rooms in the wooden structure. He looked into the room briefly, not seeing anyone immediately. As he took another step into the room, he felt a sharp, searing pain in his lower back, and a severe magicka drain headache immediately took root in his brain.

Marcus threw himself forward onto the floor, desperate to get away from whatever attacked him. As he rolled onto his back, he could see an Argonian standing there, an orcish dagger in his hand, blue magic and Marcus' blood dancing together on the blade.

 _Enchanted dagger…_ Marcus thought, his mind blaring with pain from his back and from the headache, a _strong magicka damage enchantment…_

The argonian sneered at Marcus, taking a few steps forward. "Jaree-Ra hates heroes. You shouldn't try to be one, it's bad for your health..."

"No shit." Marcus spat, before taking a deep breath and shouting. "Fus, Ro Dah!"

The argonian wasn't anticipating the Thu'um, and caught the blue circle of energy full in the chest. It picked the lizard up and launched him backwards, through the wooden wall and outwards, before letting him fall the 20 metres or so onto the boat. Glancing out the hole in the wall, Marcus made note that the argonian didn't get up.

Marcus then turned, and staggered through the room to the other side, where another slanted walkway was. He half-staggered, half-crawled up the stairs. If he could get to Jordis, he could get a healing potion from her. He hadn't had the foresight to bring one with him, but insisted that Jordis should always carry one. His magicka was basically gone, and he wanted to heal the wound in his back before he lost too much blood. The wound in his back wasn't severe, but it wasn't exactly a scratch either. He silently prayed Jordis hadn't run into any problems.

Such hopes were dashed, when Marcus got up to the top of the wooden structure. Outside, next to a forge was a man in steel armour. He was standing over Jordis, about to strike her down with a large one-handed sword. He heard Marcus approach, as the young man wasn't in any shape to quieten his movement, and turned.

Seeing Marcus, the pirate reached down and grabbed Jordis by the collar of her armour, then twisted her around so he was using the young woman as a shield in front of him, holding a sword to her throat. Strewn around the area, were the bodies of four other pirates. She'd put up a fight, but it hadn't been enough.

The man looked like the leader, he had the facial scars and stature.

"Stop where you are..." he said in a dangerous, low voice, fixing his eyes on Marcus and tightening his grip on the sword. "Or the bitch gets it."

Marcus froze. He found himself in a difficult position. He had no shouts that would be helpful, and no magicka left after the Argonian attacked him. He had no attacks that might be able to help.

"Here's what's going to happen..." the pirate leader began, "I'm going to walk out of here, with this here lady. You're not going to follow me. If I even feel as if I'm being tailed, I'll cut her pretty head off."

Marcus said nothing. His eyes showed a dozen racing ideas, none of which seemed enough to get them both out of this situation.

"Are you listening to me?" the brute growled.

Marcus said nothing, finally deciding on a plan of action. It could kill him, but then, most of the things he did could end up killing him, so he didn't sweat it.

Marcus dropped his sword, and held both hands by his side. He made sure the backs of his hands were facing forward.

"Good..." the man nodded. "Glad you could see reason."

"Just kill him Marcus!" shouted Jordis, earning her a tightened grip on her throat and the blade pressed closer against her pale neck. The blade nicked her skin, drawing a single drop of blood.

"Shut up." Growled the man.

Marcus took a step forward. Slowly, a unique red magic blossomed in his left hand, concealed from the front.

"Wait," Marcus said, "Give me your name."

"What?" the man sneered, "Why?"

Marcus tilted his head, "professional curiosity."

It actually wasn't, but Marcus just wanted to keep the guy within at least 10 metres distance. His plan wouldn't work, if he couldn't.

The red energy curled in his hand, and Marcus felt himself slowly grow weaker. Pain blossomed and grew in his chest. His heart starting skipping beats. His mouth began to slowly fill with trickles of blood.

"Fine, my name is Hargar." the pirate said said, "Satisfied?"

Marcus couldn't answer. His mouth was half-full of his own blood. He stumbled a bit, visibly unsteady on his feet, but he was close. He just had to make sure his hands stayed where they were, facing away from the pair.

"What the hell?" Hargar frowned, taking a step back, "The hell is wrong with you? The notion of losing your girlfriend for an hour taking a toll?"

Marcus didn't answer. He closed his eyes, seeing colours burst in the blackness of his vision. In his right hand, a certain purple magic slowly grew and swirled...

Hargar grinned, taking his eyes off Marcus to glance downward at Jordis. "If you're so attached, maybe I should keep her for a while longer… she'd make a fine -"

Hargar never finshed. A large branch-sized spear of ice burst through his chest, and the ice atronach behind him that the said spear of ice was attached to lifted the man up through the hole in his sternum until he was suspended a half-metre above the ground. The whole event took about a second. Hargar's sword-arm was raised into the air so quickly he only managed to cut a strand or two of Jordis' hair.

Hargar dropped his sword and grasped limply at the block of ice protruding through his chest. A second later, his eyes rolled into his head, and he slumped forward, dead.

Jordis gazed upward at the icy behemoth. It seemed uninterested in her, and proceeded to smash Hargar's body into the ground. She whirled around, to see Marcus collapse to his knees, blood trickling from his half-open mouth.

"Oh my Gods..." she breathed, "Marcus!"

She ran over, pulling her healing potion from her belt and forcing it down his throat in an instant. Marcus' skin took on a golden tinge, and a little colour returned to his cheeks.

"Ismir…" Marcus mumbled, turning away from Jordis and spitting out blood, before sitting on his haunches and rubbing his eyes, "that really hurt..."

"You crazy fool," Jordis clutched Marcus' face in her hands, wiping some of the blood off his lip, "what on earth was that?"

"A counter-intuitive restoration spell, mixed with a conjured frost atronach," Marcus said weakly. "I'm glad it worked. I felt like I was going to black out there..."

"You still might," Jordis mumbled, slinging one of Marcus' arms over her shoulder and pulling him to his feet. "You know, I'm the one who's supposed to risk my life to save **you**."

"Yeah well," Marcus smiled, "I'm not exactly an easy person to protect."

"That's putting it lightly."

Marcus chuckled, before clutching his chest from the pain such an action brought him. "You sound like my other housecarl."

Jordis stopped walking, and blinked. "You have another housecarl?"

Marcus asked, "Is that a problem?"

"No, it's just… nothing."

Jordis led Marcus to a seat, and let him down gently. "Stay here," she said, "I'll go secure the captives."

Marcus just nodded weakly, waving a hand in acknowledgement. He felt he'd done enough for at least an hour or so. Let Jordis deal with the worried nobles and travelers.

* * *

"I'm surprised you're able to walk by yourself." Jordis remarked, as they made their way up to the Solitude gate.

Marcus smiled, "I've always been a fast healer, and my own restoration magic is enough to get me on my feet most days anyway. All I really needed was a quick rest. Plus, I've been told I'm pretty stubborn.

Jordis smiled to herself, looking down at the paved stones underneath her feet. They'd dropped the ex-captives off at the dock, seeing as that would've been the place they'd have turned up at originally.

"I wonder how many of them will want to get on the first ship out of Skyrim," Jordis mused. Most of the people they'd rescued had had a few things to say about the safety of Skyrim's borders.

Marcus said, "At least half, I reckon."

Jordis nodded. "Yeah, shame. I can't think of a worse thing to happen directly after entering a province."

Marcus gazed blankly into the sky, a particular event in his semi-recent history popping up into his brain.

"I can."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: A late chapter, I know. I've been very busy this past week. Only really got a chance to write in the late evenings, when I'm already rather tired. As such, there might be a few more grammar mistakes or whichever. I feel like making this story 1.5 weeks a chapter might be better. Not sure.**

 **On a more positive note, this story has officially hit 100 followers. Woohoo! I'll be sure to give Marcus a sweetroll next chapter in celebration. I sort of started writing this with the goal of making at least one person a bit happier, and it's gone well beyond that. So thank you, all of you.**

 **Next chapter is something I've been thinking about for a while. I think you'll all enjoy it. It involves a certain Daedric God we all know and love.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	26. Chapter 26

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 26 – We're All Mad Here

Marcus woke early. A nightmare. They were an almost irremovable part of his life, at this point. Occupational hazard, he guessed. It was still somewhat dark outside, the first rays of sunlight only just beginning to drift through his window. It was earlier than he'd like to wake up, but late enough that he knew his body wouldn't let him go back to sleep.

Sighing, Marcus swung his legs over the side of his bed, and pulled on a shirt. He headed downstairs, and looked for something to eat. Jordis wasn't up yet, and he didn't want to wake her. She needed her beauty sleep, undoubtedly. There was a lot of beauty that needed sleep, after all. In any event, she looked peaceful when she slept, and Marcus wouldn't want to wake her anyway.

Not that Marcus had watched her sleep, of course… Just maybe sometimes, when he's on watch while on the road…

He didn't really feel like doing anything today, but knew he probably should. He took out his journal, and tried to figure out what he should attempt to do today. As he noticed the date, he realized that his birthday was in two weeks.

It wasn't something he'd thought about for a long time. He hadn't actually thought about his birthday since the last time it'd happened. That was a little bit before he'd even come to Skyrim, 12 months and a lifetime ago. So much had changed.

Marcus sighed, and closed his notebook, twiddling his fingers and trying to figure out what to do. In the end, he decided he'd just pick a direction, and start walking. Odds are, he'd come across someone, or something that'd occupy his time. Trouble would find him, he just needed to get somewhere out in the open.

* * *

Marcus ended up walking almost all the way to Dragon's Bridge. He'd lost track of time, just gazing at the trees and sky. Nothing had bothered him, so he didn't even notice the time passing. He'd just listlessly walked onward, until he came to a small spot overlooking the town. He didn't know why he was feeling so… out of it. Probably just a bit of adventure-fatigue. He's had a rough couple of weeks. A rough couple of months, to be honest.

Ah hell, he'd had a rough life, period.

His mind drifted to all the other adventurers. He'd come across a few. Dead ones, successful ones, aspiring ones. Marcus wondered which category he slotted into. Was he a dead man walking, a true adventuring hero, or someone who was trying to be a hero? It was hard to tell. The only person who knew enough about himself to make that classification was himself, and he didn't know. He would rather not sift through the memories required to attempt any classifying, in any event.

Marcus stopped at a rocky outcrop overlooking Dragon's Bridge, 2 metres or so from the road. The large stone structure spanning the river still standing as strong as ever, despite being hundreds, maybe thousands of years old. Seeing the giant carved Dragon's head made Marcus think more about himself. Was prolonged introspection something Dragon's did more often? Would that explain his somewhat listless attitude? He made a note to speak to Paarthurnax about it next time he saw him. It was a strange thing he had to remind himself of, being technically half-dragon. It took some getting used to.

"There you are."

Jordis' voice from behind him made Marcus turn. She was walking up behind him, hands on her hips.

She said, "You know, it'd be nice if you'd leave a note or something to let me know where you're going. As it is, I'm lucky you didn't stray far from the main road."

"I was coming back," Marcus shrugged, "I just felt a bit… aimless. I wanted to wander."

"Oh… Are you ok?" Jordis looked a bit worried. "Did you… Did you want to be alone?" She gestured to the vista behind Marcus. "Did you want to be by yourself to appreciate the view?"

"No, it's fine." Marcus smiled, a somewhat cheeky grin touching his face, "If I was alone, I couldn't appreciate the view."

Jordis frowned, not initially understanding what Marcus was getting at. Then the realization hit her, and she turned bright red. "You mean… I… Oh..." Face flushed, she stared down at her feet, unsure how to respond.

Marcus walked past her and bumped her playfully on the arm. "I'm messing with you, Jordis. Come on, let's go."

Then he walked past, heading back up the road. Jordis stood still for a moment, then followed quickly, her mind still reeling.

After walking up the path, a soft breeze brought an unusual smell to their noses. They both stopped in their tracks.

Marcus' brow creased. "Do you smell that?"

Jordis nodded, "Smoke. A fair bit of it, actually."

Marcus glanced at the sky, looking around. There were trees in the way, so he couldn't directly ascertain where it was coming from. "Bushfires wouldn't be common around here, would they?"

"No," Jordis shook her head. "There hasn't been one for as long as I can remember."

Marcus chewed his lip. He licked his finger, and stuck it in the air. "Wind's coming from the north. The fire must be near Solitude."

"Or in Solitude itself..."

They both glanced at each other, then burst into a run, making for the city. As they got closer, it became clear what was burning. The huge pillar of smoke into the sky pinpointed perfectly where the origin was.

The Blue Palace.

Goodness knows how it started burning in the first place, given that most of the place's foundations were marble and stone, but it had taken hold, and if the gradual widening of the smoke pillar in the sky was anything to go by, the flames were growing fiercer.

By the time Marcus and Jordis had actually got into Solitude, the air was thick with smoke. There didn't seem to be anyone around. People had congregated entirely to the place of the fire. Marcus and Jordis saw the huge crowd gathered just outside the Palace courtyard. Luckily enough, the Blue Palace was set far enough away from the surrounding buildings that nothing else had caught fire.

Marcus pushed through to the front of the crowd. The Solitude guardsmen were ensuring everyone maintained a respectable distance from the fire. The general consensus was just to wait until it died down. There was no saving the Palace now, and there was a general vibe of 'shit happens'. No-one seemed too glum.

"Did everyone make it out?" Marcus asked, watching the flames roar higher and higher.

A nearby guardsman nodded. "Aye, they did. No-one has recognized anyone else as missing. A few are unconscious over there from smoke inhalation, though." The man pointed to a few people lying down nearby.

Marcus moved over to them, Sybille was already there, using some healing magic to bring them around. He recognized Una, one of the palace servants, lying there, slowly regaining a drowsy state of consciousness. Marcus knelt downward, and used a bit of his own restorative magic to help the injured. Sybille nodded in approval.

But as soon as Una regained her full awareness, she bolted upright, glancing around frantically, dawning horror on her face as she realized her surroundings.

"Woah," Marcus tried to placate her, "Take it easy. You're safe now."

"No!" she screamed, grabbing Marcus and trying to haul herself to her feet. "Erdi! She's still in there! I saw her get knocked down by falling stone!" Una got onto her feet and tried to move away, but a wave of nausa came over her and she collapsed into the arms of Sybille.

Marcus stood up instantly, and scanned the crowd quickly, heart plummeting by the second. He couldn't see her. He couldn't see Erdi. Una was right, she was still in there.  
It seemed no-one but Una had cared to check if Erdi had made it out. Marcus doubted any others noticed the poor girl enough under normal circumstances to realize her absence in a crisis.

Marcus knelt back down, and whispered urgently to Una. "Where did you see Erdi fall? Where in the palace?"

Una mumbled back, eyes fluttering hazily. "E… East wing. We'd run down there to escape the smoke..."

Marcus stood up, and turned back to face the roaring fire of the palace. He began to breath heavily, his heartbeat sped up rapidly. He knew what he was about to do, he just had a hard time believing it. Erdi was in there. The young girl who spent her days dreaming of a life outside the contents of a cleaning bucket. Erdi might not be able to get the life she wanted, but Marcus was damn certain he'd make sure she got a chance.

Then he was running, bursting through the crowd, ignoring their protests of alarm. As he reached the front of the gathering, the guards reached forward to restrain him. Marcus punched the middle man in the side of his helmet, and as the guard bent over forwards, Marcus twisted his body sideways and used the man's semi-horizontal back to 'roll' over him.

Then Marcus was on the other side of the group of guards, and bolting toward the flaming remains of the Blue Palace. The guards tried to follow, but stopped after the first few metres. None wanted to follow him into that hellfire.

The only person that really tried to follow Marcus was Jordis, a wordless cry of alarm and fear on her lips as she tried to race after the figure of her thane. The guards, now on alert for potential suicidal subjects wanting to enter the burning building, grabbed her and stopped her. Jordis struggled, desperate to try and recover Marcus from the situation he was about to get himself in, but she was restrained securely by several larger men. Her last glimpse of Marcus over the shoulder of a guardsman was him charging headlong through the agape hole in the wall that used to be the main entrance, and vanishing into the dancing flames.

Marcus sprinted through the flaming wreckage, eyes squinted against the smoke and heat. Much of the building was crumbling. The normal hallways and rooms were mazes of debri. He glanced around rapidly as he ran, searching for any hints of Erdi's red clothes. The flames licked at his clothes and armour, singing his skin with minor burns. Marcus kept running. He burst through a semi-broken door that led into the east wing of the Palace. He'd never seen anyone go in there, but figured now was not the time to reason why.

Marcus was running out of time. He took in a quick breath of burning hot air, and whispered quietly with his eyes closed.

"Laas..."

As he opened his eyes, they glowed bright red. Marcus stopped running, and swiveled his head in a full 360 degree circle. The bright light of the flames was removed, replaced with inky black dancing shadows. The flames caught at Marcus, burning his skin and scorching much of his armour. Fire protection enchantments couldn't do much.

Marcus couldn't see Erdi. Her aura should be lit up bright red, and visible through walls. The only way he couldn't see her, was if she was already dead… Marcus refused to accept that. Not yet, anyway. He'd keep looking, for as long as he could.

He sprinted around a corner, and began running down a flaming hallway. In front, was a collapsed section of the roof, with a wooden beam crossing his path. As Marcus slid underneath it, the area behind him began to come down. The walls, no longer able to support the weight of the ceiling, fell apart and released their load into the space below. Marcus quickly got to his feet and ran down the rest of the corridor, flaming bits of wood falling down on him and burning much of his arms and legs.

Still, he kept his head looking around, eyes glowing red, desperately searching. Then the roof in front of him began to collapse, and a wall of fire rushed outward to meet him, propelled from behind by the collapsing building.

Marcus raised a hand in a weak attempt to block the fire, when everything went black.

He felt… somewhat cold. Then he realized that his eyes were closed, and when he opened them, he found himself in a completely different environment.

Instead of being in the centre of a collapsing building, Marcus was… at a dinner party… in the middle of nowhere.

The area was chilly, in stark comparison to the searing heat of the palace. Marcus briefly thought he'd died and gone to Aetherius, but the misty, almost swampy surroundings didn't match any afterlife he'd ever heard of. Though, who'd know?

Marcus looked down at himself. The burns on his arms, face and legs were still there, but his clothes had changed. Instead of his armour, he was wearing a fancier attire. More like something a noble would wear, or some wealthy businessman. The rich fabric felt rather alien on Marcus' skin.

There were two people at this table, set in the middle of nowhere with a bounty of food and drink laid out. One of them was wearing clothes similar to Marcus, while the other wore… something else entirely.

Imagine a dozen outfits, chopped up into tiny bits, then sewed together in a haphazard manner. Then imagine the entire thing dyed about 20 different shades of purple. That's what the second man was wearing. It was undoubtedly the strangest, most chaotic looking outfit Marcus had ever seen. The guy's tailor must have been incredibly skilled, and incredibly insane.

"More tea, Pelly my dear?" the purple-clothed man asked the other man.

"No," he replied. "It goes straight through me, and I've got so many things to do."

Marcus took a step forward. "Where am I?" His voice was confused.

The regular clothed man spoke again, to the purple-clothed man. "So many undesirables. Buffoons, detractors, the lot. My headsman hasn't slept in days."

The purple-clothed man nodded rapidly, a bashful smile on his old face. "You are far too hard on yourself, my dear insane Pelagius. What would the people do without you? Sing? Dance? Grow old? Ha!"

Marcus frowned. The man was called Pelagius? And he was insane? That was a very big coincidence… Like right out of a history book.

 _Where the hell am I?_ Marcus wondered.

The purple-clothed man took a swig from a porcelain cup of tea. "You are undoubtedly the best Septim to ever rule! Apart from that Martin fellow, but he got to turn into a Dragon god, so it's not a fair comparison."

"Where am I?" Marcus asked, his voice a bit firmer this time. "Where is Erdi?"

The men ignored him. The purple one spoke again. "I was there for the whole sordid thing, you know, butterflies, blood, severed heads, a fox, and the cheese! Oh, that cheese was to die for."

Despite the situation he was in, Marcus couldn't help but stare blankly at the purple man. His tone of voice was so… erratic. His expression and voice seemed to give off an 'Everything is exciting' vibe. It was unnerving.

'Pelagius' sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "I know… as you've said countless times before."

Marcus lost his temper. Time was wasting, and Erdi could potentially be burning. However the hell he'd gotten here, he needed to get back to the palace and keep searching. He walked forward quickly, and grabbed the shoulder of the regular-clothed man. Instantly, a purple portal swirled around the man, and wisked him away.

"How rude!" The purple man exclaimed. "I can't be left alone with an old friend for a decade or two!"

"Where the hell am I?!" Marcus shouted, storming over to the man until he stood but a foot from his face. "What happened to the Palace?"

The man wasn't fazed, and stared back with a grin. "Why, you're inside the mind of Pelagius, silly." He tilted his head sideways innocently. "Is it your… first time?"

Marcus stared at him, then took a step back, wide-eyed. As unstable as the man seemed, he didn't seem to be telling a lie. Marcus cradled his head in his hands, the man was a nutcase. That much was obvious. But right now, he needed information. It was… possible that Erdi had been transported here, same as he was. It'd explain why the Detect Aura shout didn't work. Marcus chose to believe that explanation, rather than the alternative.

"Listen," Marcus began, measuring his words slowly so he was certain the guy understood. "I'm looking for someone. They might've ended up here the same as me..."

"Oooh!" The man's face lit up. "Who was it? Little Tim, the toymaker's son? Molag? No… he never visits… What about the ghost of King Lysandus?"

Marcus stared back blanky.

The man scratched his chin. "Oh, you're talking about the little arsonist. The girl who accidentally started the fire in that not-so-blue Palace."

Marcus said, "Erdi started the fire? How?"

"She dropped a lantern on a rug, I think. But that's not the important thing. I want to know if you know, who you're dealing with here."

Marcus shrugged desperately, "I don't know. A madman?"

"Oh," he clapped. "Jolly good guess! But you're only half right. I'm a mad God. The Mad God, rather." He did a flamboyant bow. "Call me Sheogorath, the daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed."

Marcus blinked a few times, and found he had to sit himself down at the table. Sheogorath rattled on about how this entire thing was actually a vacation, and he was on holiday, and how annoying it was to constantly get uninvited guests while on holiday. Marcus only half took it in. He was reeling, from the gravity of the situation he found himself in. Now that the adrenaline was fading, he'd taken the news hard. Another daedra. He'd traded a really shitty situation for a worse one, it seemed.

Instead of being inside a burning building looking for a poor servant girl, he was inside another dimension, looking for a poor servant girl. Just his luck.

Marcus breathed out heavily. "I've really made a mistake this time..."

Sheogorath stopped his one-man rant to actually notice Marcus' rhetorical question. "No my boy, what you made was a choice. Granted, it wasn't a wise choice, but these things happen. Ahh… the folly of youth."

Marcus rubbed his forehead, forcing himself to view the situation objectively. Step one was to locate Erdi. Step two was to get out of here, and make sure they didn't go straight back into the Blue Palace. The place was pretty much falling down, so he doubted it'd be wise to go straight back. In a way, he was lucky he'd been 'teleported' out when he was. He was a few moments away from being fried.

"Listen," Marcus began, "I really need to get back to where I was. With the girl."

"Hmm..." Sheogorath considered the young man before him. He hummed for an uncomfortable amount of time, before finally nodding.

"Ok," Sheogorath began, "Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to end my holiday, right now. I'll head back to the hum drum day-to-day life, while sending you and your little plus one back to Solitude… On one condition." Sheogorath smiled.

Marcus awaited some completely impossible requirement. Some kind of unobtainable goal.

Sheogorath simply said, "You need to find your way out first."

Marcus frowned, and crossed his arms. "It can't be that simple. What's the catch?"

Sheogorath laughed, and clapped his hands. "Oh, I love it when the mortals know they're being manipulated, it makes it so much more interesting." Sheogorath walked a little bit away from the table, and spread his arms out before spinning in a 360 degree circle. "You're currently in the deceptively verdant mind of the Emperor Pelagius III. Now, I know what you're thinking, can I still rely on swords and spells and all that nonsense. Sure you can… or, you could use something else."

"I uhh, I don't actually have my swords or armour or any of that."

"Oh, you're right. Well, all the better. You'll have to use..." Sheogorath paused with exaggerated dramatic flair. "The Wabbajack!"

"The what?" Marcuss expression was of complete confusion.

Sheogorath frowned, and spoke in a clearer tone. "The wabbajack."

"What's that?"

Sheogorath's eyes widened. "Did you seriously just… my goodness, I never knew education had gone so far downhill in the fourth era." The mad God then turned and literally pulled a large staff out of his pocket, before handing it to Marcus. "Go on. Fix the mind of Pelagius so we can all get out of here. Shoo."

Marcus just nodded dumbly, accepting the staff and walking off. Around the clearing, the mist cleared to show three large archways, leading down separate paths. Marcus chose one at random, and moved down it.

As he walked, the misty surroundings curled around closer to him, before withdrawing to reveal a different environment. He was in a forest. The voice of Sheogorath spoke in his mind.

"You've headed down the path of dreams. Pelagius suffered night terrors from a young age. All you need to do to fix them is find something to wake poor Pelagius up. You'll find his terrors easy to repel, but persistent."

The mist cleared away completely, leaving Marcus in a dark, foreboding forest clearing. In the centre, was a young boy in a nightgown, shivering from cold and fear. Marcus walked up to approach him, but the boy didn't seem to notice him. He just kept glancing around, looking fearfully into the shadows amongst the dark trees.

"Hey," Marcus reached out to touch the boy on the shoulder, "You… um… you need to wake up."

The boy looked up at Marcus, seeing him, but without any actual notice or recognition in his eyes. Then a low growling filled the clearing, and Marcus whirled around to see three sets of glowing red eyes stare out from the shadows between the trees. Boy Pelagius whimpered behind Marcus.

Three large, black wolves slowly crept out of the treeline, making for the pair in the centre. The first two wolves bolted for Pelagius, circling around to the right, while the third, the largest, ran straight at Marcus. All he had was the strange staff, and he didn't even know what it did.

For their size, the wolves moved deceptively fast, easily faster than regular wolves. The two other wolves circled Pelagius, barking and growling at him, circling from a metre away, and making the boy cry in pure terror. Marcus fired fireballs at the creatures, but it did nothing. The animals weren't fazed.

The largest one leapt onto Marcus, knocking him to the ground. It's large teeth lunged for his neck, and he was only just able to bring the staff up and lodge it in the animal's teeth, preventing its jaws from reaching his unprotected skin. It growled viciously, gnashing its teeth against the strange metal, desperate to break through and chew on the soft flesh underneath.

Marcus managed to maneuver so his right hand was keeping the staff where it was, while his left hand was free. With a twist of his body, he punched the large wolf in its stomach with as much force as he could muster. Due to the limited space he had underneath the animal, the punch couldn't do much, but it winded the creature enough so that Marcus could get both arms behind the staff, and slowly push the wolf off him, using the staff pressed against its jaws as a sort of barrier between him and it. The animal wasn't smart enough to let go. Seems like Pelagius' dream wolves were all teeth, and no brain.

With a final heave, Marcus pushed the wolf away, and promptly spun the staff around to fire at it. He didn't know what the staff did, but it was his only plan. A red orb shot out of the staff's tip, and hit the wolf mid-leap. A red explosion engulfed the wolf, before rapidly expanding to engulf both Marcus and the other wolves, and Pelagius.

As the energy passed through him, Marcus instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them, he stood in a completely different environment. Instead of a dark forest, he was in a beautiful bright meadow, and instead of being surrounded by snarling wolves, he was surrounded by cute little puppies jumping around and nibbling at his feet.

Marcus turned to see the boy Pelagius laughing, picking up one of the pups as it licked his cheek. The scene was in such a stark contrast to the one he just left, it was kinda stunning. Marcus sat down, breathing out a relaxed sigh.

 _That wasn't so bad,_ he thought, lying down on the soft, glowing green grass.

Then mist swirled out from the ground, rising up from the grass. It covered everything in sight for a few moments, then melted away.

Marcus was standing in the hallway of dimly lit hallway, in some kind of castle. Boy Pelagius was beside him, quivering in fear once more. The hallway seemed to be from some kind of castle. There was a long rug stretching down the room, with black, old-looking candles burning at irregular intervals.

"What is this..." Marcus murmured, turning in a full circle. Behind them was the same as in front, the hallway stretching onward into a dark gloom. There were doors off to the side occasionally, but none of them had door handles.

Then a screech was heard in front of them, and out of the gloom, about 50 metres away, a woman walked out.

She didn't look like anything Marcus had ever seen, and not in a good way. She looked like a cross between a hagraven and a shrivelled, mummified corpse. Her body was twisted and hunched over, one arm extended downwards, near her knees, and the other all bunched up near her chest. Her eyes were missing, and in their place was just two bottomless holes. Marcus and Pelagius both gasped in terror, and turned to run.

The woman-monster screamed again, a bloodcurdling sound that shook Marcus to his bones, then began to chase them. At first it looked like they'd be able to get away, or at least outrun it, with the woman only just managing to amble along.

Then something bad happened. Something Marcus had experienced himself in many nightmares. He found his body slowing down. It was like he was swimming in honey, all of a sudden, to simply move forward required a dedicated effort from every muscle in his body. Pelagius seemed to suffer the same problem. Their pace slowed to almost a crawl. They pushed with their might, but they just couldn't move.  
Marcus' mind screamed at him, demanding his body to move forward. The horrid screeching of the woman was getting closer. Marcus twisted his head around to see her less than 10 metres away, gaining fast. Pelagius began to sob uncontrollably.

Then Marcus remembered the staff. It was in his hands the whole time. He'd forgotten all about it, in the fright. He raised his arm, so slowly… His muscles strained against some invisible force, barely managing to make the staff move at all. The closer he got to pointing it at the woman, the harder it got to move.

The woman was almost close enough to touch, she reached upward with her larger arm, and prepared to strike downward at Marcus. He shut his eyes tight, finally managing to point the staff at the chest of the monster, and fired. He braced himself for what was to come, but nothing did.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in an elaborate entry hall, somewhat similar to the main entrance to the Blue Palace. In front of him, instead of a horrific shriveled woman, was a rather attractive maid, in a rather… revealing barmaid outfit.

"My my my," she said sultrily, looking Marcus up and down "What a handsome young man… your wife is rather lucky."

"Um..." Marcus frowned, his heart still beating at a furious pace, "What do you mean?"

She laughed, and gestured to Pelagius beside him, "Well, this boy is your son, is he not? Surely you must have a wife?"

Marcus stammered slightly, looking down at his feet, "Um, no, you're mistaken, I'm not -" Then Marcus looked up, and the woman and surrounding buildings were gone. Instead, he was standing in the middle of a broken down castle courtyard. It was all decrepit. Trees were dead, the paths were overgrown with blackened grass, and the stone was moldy and crumbling.

There was seemingly no way to get out of the courtyard. The archway that presumably led out was caved down, blocked off by a wall of broken rubble. In the centre of the courtyard was a pond, about 5 metres in diameter. It was filled entirely with blood. Blackened, half-clotted blood. Again, Pelagius was nearby, shivering and chewing his teeth in his mouth.

A loud booming was heard, seeming to sound like the footsteps of something really big and angry. Marcus readied the Wabbajack in his hands, and slowly turned in a circle, watching the crumbling rooftops and darkened windows. It wasn't until he heard Pelagius start to sob suddenly in fright, that Marcus turned around to see something emerging quickly from the pond.

It looked like a frost atronach, except without all the pointy-ness. It seemed to be constructed of a cage, a cage filled with bits of meat and bones. Like someone had minced up an entire farmyard, and shoved it inside a metal grid shaped like an 8-foot man. It had no face, no features of any kind. Blood dripped from every part of it was it sprung out of the blood pond, and walked with surprising speed into the courtyard.

Marcus, who had been preparing to fire the staff at something coming from the outside of the courtyard, was surprised and horrified by the sudden appearance of the monstrosity, and received a bloody fist punch directly to his stomach before he could bring the Wabbajack around and fire. Pain flared across his entire torso, and he was launched across the courtyard and smacked against a dead tree. The blood golem began to run at him. It's heavy, meat-filled feet made wet crunches as it moved. Marcus could feel something in his chest had broken. Probably a rib or two. He raised the Wabbajack weakly, as the behemoth ran at him, and fired once.

The familiar red orb slammed into the monster, and a bright red light washed over Marcus, forcing him to close his eyes. When he opened them, he was, as he suspected, in an entirely different area.

It was a garden. A beautiful, well-manicured garden, complete with a stunning stone sculpture in the centre, right where the blood golem had been. Birds and bees floated around in the air, dancing amongst flowers and hedges.

Everything wasn't perfect though, Marcus ribs were still broken. He cautiously summoned restoration magic into his hands, and carefully channeled it through his body. He felt the bones in his chest click back into place. It seemed that his magic worked on himself, at least.

Marcus looked around, as mist began to creep out from under the hedges and plants. He gripped the Wabbajack firmly, preparing himself for another nightmarish scenario. However, when the mist cleared, all he saw was Pelagius, as a boy, waking up out of a bed in an Imperial-style bedroom.

"Well now," Sheogorath spoke in his mind, "Isn't that something to crow about! With Pelagius up and about, you're moving right along. We'll all be home in no time."

Then there was a flash, and Marcus was standing in the path again, facing toward the dinner table. He sighed, rolling his shoulder and stretching.

He thought tiredly, _One down, two to go._

The next path he went down was simpler, in a sense. There wasn't any shape-shifting environments, or monsters.

Marcus walked down the path, and saw a clearing similar to the one the table was in. Sheogorath's voice spoke once more.

"Ah, now this is a sad path. Pelagius hated and feared many things, wild dogs, undead, Pumpernickle… But the deepest, keenest hatred was for himself. Sound familiar?"

Marcus didn't answer. He saw two figures appear, both had Pelagius' face. One was tiny, about the size of a small cat, and wore simple farmer clothes. The other was about 7 feet tall. The 7 foot tall one was dressed in armour, and wore an angry expression. The large one was pummelling the smaller one, kicking it about and punching it. The small one tried to get away, but kept getting cornered.

"Pelagius' confidence will shrink with every hit," Sheogorath said, "and his anger is accentuated by his doubt and self-loathing. You need to bring them into balance."

Marcus took out the Wabbajack, and aimed at the angry figure. He aimed carefully, and fired at it. As soon as the projectile hit the armour, Marcus was wracked with raw anger. In his mind's eye, he saw himself, cutting down swaths of fleeing Silver Hand. He saw the scared face of a young bandit, as he slashed their throat. He saw the desperate face of Brelyna, magically shut closed the gate to the College of Winterhold, in order to stop a furious Marcus from storming off.

Then it ended, and Marcus staggered backwards, gasping, staring at the shrunken figure of anger. Both figures were now the same size, and thus the figure of confidence couldn't get pummeled as easily.

Then two more figures appeared. They were ghostly apparitions, running forward and smacking the figure of confidence, making the figure of anger grow slowly larger.

Marcus shook his head to clear the flashbacks, and aimed the Wabbajack again, this time at the two ghostly figures. As soon as the projectile hit them, Marcus was wrenched down another horrific trip of memory lane.

He saw the manifestation of his doubts. The near-lifeless face of Lydia, as he carried her in his arms. The fearful look on Jordis' face as Hargar pressed a blade against her throat. The saddened, afraid look on the face of Erik's father as Marcus led him away to Whiterun. The dead body of Kodlak, burning atop the Skyforge. Doubt and guilt piled up in Marcus' chest, his skin felt hot and prickly.

Then it was over, as soon as it began. The figure of anger had stopped growing, but the figure of confidence was smaller. Marcus took a step back, blinking hard and trying to suppress the cascading avalanche of emotions roaring in his mind.

He looked at the figure of confidence, getting smacked around by these other three people. Marcus gripped the Wabbajack tighter, and took a deep breath. He aimed it at the figure of confidence, and closed his eyes. Then he fired the Wabbajack, and as soon as the red orb hit the figure of confidence, it grew to a height of 7 feet, easily. The figures attacking it then dissipated, one by one.

"Well done!" Sheogorath proclaimed, "Pelagius is now ready to love himself, and continue to hate everyone else."

Marcus breathed out heavily, leaning on the staff. "By my blood..." he breathed. "why does this sort of thing always happen to me?" Then he walked out of the clearing, back onto the path toward Sheogorath. One more path to go. One more trial.

As Marcus walked down the third and final path. Sheogorath began giving him some more exposition.

"Pelagius' mother was… unique, you could say," the Mad God began, "thought probably not that unique in the grand scheme of Septims, to be honest. She wielded fear like a cleaver… or maybe she wielded fear by wielding a cleaver… I can't remember. Anyhow, she taught Pelagius from a young age that danger could come from anywhere, at anytime, delivered by… anyone."

Mist formed up around Marcus, swirling close to him, before drifting away and revealing a place Marcus had only ever seen once. He stood in the Imperial city, in the middle of the a large crowd.

The crowd had gathered on the edges of one of the main roads within the city. Pelagius, this time as old as he'd been at the dinner table, was walking through in some kind of procession. He was waving to the people, as royals often do, and making his way down the road. Guards held back the tide of people from the road, so none of them could impede the Emperor as he made his way down the 'parade' of sorts, atop a gleaming horse.

Marcus pushed through the crowd gently, matching pace with the Emperor's grand procession. He didn't really understand what was happening. He didn't really want to just randomly start firing the Wabbajack at people in the hope of fixing something.

Then something shifted in the corner of his eye. Marcus turned, and saw a little way ahead a figure in a dark, hooded cloak moving toward the front of the crowd. Down by this person's waist, Marcus saw the glint of steel. A weapon, clearly. The hooded figure must be an assassin. They looked male, though it was hard to tell with the cloak.

 _Of course,_ Marcus realized, remembering the words Sheogorath had just said, _Paranoia. That's what this path is all about._

The figure skulked through the crowd, making for Pelagius. Marcus began moving faster, pushing people out of the way. When Marcus began to get close to the assassin, he turned, and gazed at Marcus from under his shadowy hood. He couldn't see his face, save for a pair of unblinking, glowing red eyes. Very cliché.

As soon as the assassin saw him, he rushed forward with a surge of speed, toward Pelagius. The guards didn't seem to be noticing, neither were the crowds of people. They just all smiled and waved, oblivious to the two figures rushing toward the Emperor.

The assassin and Marcus both burst out of the crowd at the same time, the assassin sprinting toward Pelagius with a dagger drawn, and Marcus sprinting toward the assassin on an intercept course. But the Assassin was a smidgen in front, and Marcus knew he wouldn't stop the guy before he stabbed Pelagius.

 _For someone so bloody paranoid,_ Marcus thought, gritting his teeth and pulling out the Wabbajack, _Pelagius sure isn't on the lookout for would-be assassins…_

Launching a red orb from the staff, the assassin was stunned momentarily. He didn't change or anything… just sort of stopped where he was, confused. Then he turned to face Marcus, and readied the dagger at him. Marcus wasn't one to back off from such a challenge, and barreled into the cloaked man to bring him crashing down to the ground. They wrestled briefly, during which the assassin buried the dagger into Marcus' side.

Marcus rolled away, clutching his side where the handle protruded. The assassin stood up again, clenching his hands into fists. As the cloaked man charged, Marcus gritted his teeth, and wrenched the dagger out of his own side, ignoring the spurt of blood that came out of himself as he did so. Marcus spun the weapon about in his hands to grip it by the blade, then threw it towards the face of the assassin.

The knife entered the shadowy confines of the hood, blade-first, and buried into the face of the would-be assassin. A man's shriek came from the hood, before he crumpled to the ground, dead. Or at least, Marcus hoped he was dead. This mind of madness didn't really ground itself in reality.

He used a little healing magic to seal off the knife wound in his side, then walked over to the body. Marcus knelt down beside the dead man, and reached forward to pull back the cowl. Just as his fingers were about to grasp the black fabric, he heard a hum of curiosity from beside him. He turned to see Pelagius there, dismounted from his horse, looking down at the assassin with a frown on his face.

"This is unusual..." Pelagius murmured, frowning.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, then turned back to look at the assassin.

Then his world came crashing down around his ears.

Marcus' skin turned icy. His heart skipped beats, before pounding so rapidly it sounded like a hammer slamming against his skull. Blood roared in his ears. His eyes widened, taking in the full sight of what he couldn't believe was in front of him.

The assassin wasn't an assassin anymore. It was… her…

It was **Her.** From all those years ago.

No mistake. The dress, her favorite colour of green, speckled with blood. The unblemished face that all 8-year olds had. Her lifeless eyes, the subtle confusion on her features… all ripped straight from Marcus' memory.

 _How?_ Marcus thought, the onset of a panic attack hitting him. He scrabbled backwards, unable to tear his eyes off the body. _This… this has nothing to do with Pelagius… this is my… my…_

His hands shook. His whole body shook. The confusion, shock, and crushing mountain of emotions rushing through his body were too much.

"It seems my fears of assassins were misplaced," mused Pelagius, oblivious to what Marcus was going through. "This is just a girl."

Marcus' chest rose and fell several times a second, his rapid breathing causing hyperventilation. He just… he couldn't handle it. Years of pushing it down in his mind, only to have it brought right in front of him.

Then the mist arrived, to spare him from his torment. It swirled around and obscured every visible person, living or dead, from view. Then it dissipated one last time, leaving Marcus alone in the centre of the clearing, right next to the table with Sheogorath sitting at it, kneeling on the ground.

Marcus didn't move. He was frozen. He stared blankly at the dirt, dead to the world, yet his eyes ablaze with dozens of memories and thoughts. Sheogorath watched him, the daedric Prince's face a mixture of curiosity, and understanding.

Neither moved for over an hour.

* * *

Eventually, Marcus planted the Wabbajack in the ground, and used it to heave himself to his feet. He was very pale, but seemed otherwise ok.

Sheogorath said, "You did it. Paranoia, fear, and self-hate. All things Pelagius suffers no longer."

"That… final path," Marcus began, his voice shaky. "What… what was that?"

Sheogorath smiled, "A bit of… leaking, you could say. Some of your mind mixed with Pelagius'. Nothing more."

Marcus breathed out. "So, I've done it? Pelagius' mind is fixed?"

"Hmm… Fixed is a very subjective term. I think 'treated' is far more appropriate, like one does to a rash, or arrow to the face." Sheogorath pushed himself out of his chair, and dusted his hands off. "No matter. Persistent mortal you are, you've actually succeeded and survived. Pelagius the Third, once the mad emperor of Tamriel, now so boringly sane..." A grin broke out on the man's face. "I always knew he had it in him. I'm now forced to honor my end of the bargain. So congratulations, you and you're friend or whatever, are free to go."

Sheogorath pointed behind Marcus, to where Erdi lay unconscious on the ground. Her clothes were blackened with soot, but she was otherwise unharmed.

Marcus said, "How come she's only just now appeared?"

Sheogorath shrugged, "Well, sane individuals can't really manifest inside the mind of a demented King that easily. Now that it's no longer demented, there's no such problem."

Marcus frowned. How had he 'manifested' in that case? "But I… I'm not insane..."

Sheogorath gave him a knowing look. "Well… not in a conventional sense."

"I'm not insane," Marcus said, quieter.

Sheogorath snorted, "You may say that, but I don't know any sane person who'd ask several experienced mages to tattoo a gigantic explosion rune into their chest, before linking it to their life-force. Do you?"

Marcus stayed quiet. He unconsciously reached up to rub his left shoulder. He then knelt down and picked up Erdi in his arms. Sheogorath clicked his fingers, remembering something.

"Though, I must know. Are you going to tell anyone that this lovely lass started the fire?"

Marcus shook his head, "No. I think she's been through enough."

Sheogorath nodded. "Oh, feel free to keep the Wabbajack." he said as an afterthought, "As a token of my… um… Oh, just take the damn thing."

It appeared on Marcus' back, tucked through the belt on his pants. "Thanks, I guess. Where will you be sending us back?"

Sheogorath stroked his chin, "Oh, I have the perfect place picked out. Very good comedic timing. I'm sure you'll appreciate it.

Marcus had a feeling he wouldn't. "Well..." he breathed out a sigh. "It's been… memorable, Sheogorath."

"Indeed," the prince nodded in affirmation, "You take care of yourself now, and if you ever find yourself in New Sheoth, do look me up. We can swap 'savior of the world' stories over a strawberry tart. Ta ta!"

Marcus frowned, "Wait, wha-"

* * *

The Priests were performing the last rites ceremony for Marcus and Erdi in the temple of the divines. Most of the people from Solitude had gathered, to simply pay their respects. Queen Elisif was there too, as was General Tullius. Many people were crying, but rather surprisingly, it was Elisif that was crying the most.

Jordis sat up the back, dabbing her face with a piece of cloth. Her eyes were red and raw. Her body didn't enough in it to keep weeping, while her mind just continued to replay the horrific sight of the palace crumbling down, with Marcus still inside. They couldn't even find a body to bury.

The priests droned on. "We commend their souls to Aetherius, and bless them in the hopes that-"

Jordis blocked it out. Their words didn't do Marcus justice, and she knew he wouldn't approve of such a dull ceremony. She smiled fondly, he'd probably want something with cake, or a party of sorts. To make people happy one last time. He was a hero, a savior of countless people, and a dear friend. However unprofessional she knew it was, and however much she knew it wasn't her place to think this, she'd even hoped it could one day grow to be more than that. He had every virtue she would've looked for in a partner. Not that any of it mattered now, though. q¶

 _I just… I just wish I had more time,_ she thought sadly, looking down. _So many more things I wanted to say… to do._

Another few tears rolled down her pale cheek. It seems her body had a little more to give. As if the last week hadn't been enough. A mixture of guilt, loss, regret, and all sorts of grief rose and fell in her body. She wished she could blame him for it, to believe it was his own stupid fault, but she couldn't. He'd died trying to save the life of a downtrodden servant. How could Jordis hold that against him?

Then the air seemed to… shift. It grew heavy and… fuzzy. In front of the priests, up in near the alcoves of the Gods, a black void wreathed in purple magic grew rapidly. The people gathered had just enough time to gasp in fear and surprise, before the circle of purple and black magic spat out two figures.

Marcus sat up next to the still unconscious body of Erdi, and coughed heavily. Teleportation felt very unpleasant. He was pretty sure his insides had been outside for a moment there.

"Oh man," he sighed, rubbing his face, "what a day."

Then he opened his eyes, and saw an entire crowd halfway through running away, frozen in place with shock. Every single pair of eyes were fixed on him.

"Um..." Marcus scratched the back of his head, and glanced about at his surroundings. He seemed to be at a funeral of sorts. Why would Sheogorath send him here? What's so comedic about… this…?

Then the realization hit him, just as the entire crowd erupted into chaos. _You cheeky bastard, Sheo…_ Marcus thought, seeing all the people running about like headless chickens, and wondering how on earth he'd end up explaining this away. Still, crashing your own funeral is a pretty cool thing, Marcus had to admit. Probably the best part of his whole day, although that wasn't saying much.

Then, somewhere up the back of the crowd, Marcus heard a familiar voice emit a fairly distinct squeal of pure delight.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Sorry for the late chapter, or the fact that the chapter's are becoming later than they were, but I really wanted to get this one done right. It's something I've been thinking of for ages, and I wanted to make sure I took my time. As it is, the later sections could be better, I guess.**

 **I changed a lot of things about the quest too. I'd appreciate any feedback to see what aspects you guys liked/disliked. I may have messed with what would be considered the 'mechanics' of the quest, just for cinematic effect, but hopefully it was worth it.**

 **Also a few more hints to Marcus' backstory here. A talented person could probably piece together what's happened if they analyzed the clues I've left over the chapters. Maybe. I can't really remember how many I've actually left.**

 **I'm going to start to make Marcus more unrelatable to the common person. He's not going to be a regular joe anymore, or someone that me or you could easily relate to in a general sense. His personality won't change, but his attitude to combat and such things will become a bit different. I feel like at this stage, Marcus is becoming more… veteran, in a sense. He's no longer a scared young man, and he's no longer an inexperienced fighter. His mentality should reflect that. His attitude towards death and fighting might become a bit less… serious, as well. This if for a separate reason, which I'll get around to showing, sooner or later.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Notes: ATTENTION**

 **This chapter contains themes of sexual assault/rape. Viewer discretion is very much advised, so read at your own risk. Don't blame me for corrupting your innocence. There's an 'M' rating for a reason.**

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 27 – A Diamond in the Rough

Marcus walked along the road from Riften, glancing at the pretty orange trees. They didn't seem to change colour based off the season, which he thought was good, because he liked this kind of colour the most. Most of Skyrim was either white, grey, or green. It was nice to see the occasional vibrant orange.

As Marcus was looking at the leaves, his eyes caught a small trail of smoke stretching into the sky. Too thin to be a bushfire or burning house. Probably just a chimney or a forge. He must be close to a town.

Sure enough, as he came over the next rise, he saw a small cluster of buildings, one of which had a forge. The town was set right next to the beginning of a mountain range, the same mountain range that separated the volcanic tundra and the Rift. There seemed to be a smelter close to the edge of the rocks, and Marcus noticed a large tunnel, supported with wood.

 _A mine…_ Marcus realized, then remembered the words of a Riften guard, _this must be Shor's Stone._

Marcus walked down into the town. He saw a couple out-of-condition guardsmen wandering around, eyeing him cautiously. With his half-robes, half-metal armor, he must have looked rather odd. The houses formed a small cluster around a large clearing. A large campfire was situated in this clearing, around which several people sat on cut logs. Miners, by the looks of them, of varying races. They looked at Marcus with curiosity, which turned to wariness as they saw the weapons he was carrying. Marcus smiled at the irony. They were cautious of him because he was carrying weapons, yet he could've walked in here without them, as still have been just as dangerous.

Marcus walked up to the forge. He'd collected a rather fancy enchanted elven dagger from a Thalmor Justiciar a few days ago that he'd like to sell. The elf had decided that one man out on his own in the wild was 'suspicious' and had decided to bring Marcus in for questioning. Marcus spoke three words and incinerated the unarmored elf where he stood.

Marcus stepped up the wooden stairs into the forge. The blacksmith there looked the young man up and down. The old guy must've been a good judge of character, because he nodded in allowance.

"You don't look like the trouble-making sort. I'm Filnjar, welcome to Shor's Stone."

Marcus smiled friendly-like. "Thank you. I'm just here to do a bit of trading, and maybe use your forge for a bit of repair work, if you'll allow it."

"Sure thing," Filnjar nodded, "Did you have anything in particular you wanted?"

Marcus shook his head, and handed over the dagger. He didn't even bother to haggle. He just accepted the smith's first price, which sounded reasonable enough. As the smith went to place the dagger in a nearby secure chest, where most of his best works were kept, Marcus glanced over at the miners sitting around the dormant fire.

"Is it their day off or something?" he asked, jerking a thumb in their direction. "I wouldn't have thought miners would let a single day go to waste."

"Ugh..." Filnjar shook his head in disgust, "They don't. But the damn mine has recently become infested with gigantic spiders. Bloody things near killed two of us, and the guards are too much a bunch of milk-drinkers to do anything about it."  
"Spiders?" Marcus raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested. "What kind of spiders? How large were they?"

"Didn't see them up close," shrugged the smith, "I only know what the others say. Most of them were the size of bears, or large dogs. Grogmar said he saw one the size of a horse."

Marcus frowned, "Is… is that it? No ones larger?"

"I'd want to hope not," Filnjar said, "As it is, we're terrified they'll come out one night and slaughter us all in our sleep."

"Hmm," Marcus seemed non-plussed by the prediction. "I doubt it." He stretched his arms, and rubbed some feeling into his hands. "Well, make sure the forge is hot by the time I get back. Odds are, I'll need to repair my stuff even more so after this ordeal."

"Huh?" Filnjar frowned in confusion. "What are you going to do, boy?"

Marcus smiled back, walking down the steps and walking toward the mine. He called over his shoulder, "I'm going to kill some insects."

Marcus turned to face the mine entrance, chewing his lip. _Do they actually classify as 'insects'? I don't think they do…_

Still, he figured he wasn't in any shape to embarrass himself. Odds are, the blacksmith didn't know much about monster nomenclature.

* * *

Marcus emerged an hour later, coughing. His face had smudges of soot on it. He walked briskly over to the forge, where Filnjar was standing, somewhat stunned. The miners, who had been informed about the strange newcomer who'd walked into the mine alone, watched also. Their looks of wariness had changed to surprise and awed confusion.

Marcus walked up to the forge and sat down heavily in a chair. He took a small waterskin out of a pouch, and splashed a bit of water on his face to clean off the soot.

"You..." Filnjar shook his head in disbelief. "Did you just kill the spiders?"

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

Marcus didn't seem to fussed on the subject. His attention was primarily directed at cleaning the dirt off his face.

Filnjar took a deep breath, opened and closing his eyes a couple times. "Well… I guess I'll go tell the lads to get the mine back in working order."

He went to leave, but Marcus' arm appeared out of nowhere and grasped him on the shoulder.

"I wouldn't do that just yet," he said, a friendly warning look on his face, "I…I set most of that place on fire when I was in there. You'll want to give it a good half-day before you head down."

Filnjar's frown deepened, "You set the mine on fire? Why?"

"The spiders had filled the place up with eggs and webs. To make sure you didn't have a repeat of the same situation in about a week, I burned it all."

"Ah..." Filnjar nodded, "I suppose that explains the soot on your face."

"Yeah. Feel free to tell the others about it, just make sure they don't go down there for a while."

The blacksmith nodded, and walked off to tell the others about what had happened. There were assorted cheers and laughs, before they wandered off to their respective houses to grab their pickaxes and other mining tools, before waiting around.

Filnjar came back up to the forge, and nodded to Marcus. "We don't have a whole lot, but we're all willing to pitch in and offer you some coin for your services."

Marcus laughed, much to Filnjar's surprise. "I don't need money. Just let me use your forge, and perhaps let me spend the night here, if you have a spare bed."

"Oh, of course." the smith nodded rapidly, eager to provide something in replacement of their much needed money. "You can use the forge whenever you like, I'll go let Sylgja know she has a guest for tonight."

"Who's Sylgja?" Marcus asked. He hadn't seen a woman about in the town as of yet. "Is she your wife?"

Filnjar laughed. "Goodness no, though I wish that were the case. You'll meet her soon enough."

Marcus frowned, more out of curiosity than anything else. He shifted any other thoughts out of his mind, and began stripping off the heavier bits of his armour to repair them easier.

* * *

Marcus laid out the top half of his armor to cool. He'd hammered the pauldrons back into shape, and managed to stitch the leather and fur on the underside back together. Between the spiders, the bandits, and a pair of trolls he'd encountered that day and the day before, his gear had accumulated a fair bit of damage. Nothing serious, but he was glad he'd had the opportunity to repair it nonetheless.

Filnjar had offered his assistance, but Marcus had politely declined. He didn't like anyone else handling his armour, and doubted that the small-town smith would know enough about advanced metal smithing to help him in any significant way. The mixture of metals and alloys, woven closely with magical robes, made the set of gear rather hard to work on a forge. Marcus had trained and built the pieces with Eorland, so he was a bit more skilled.

As he sat on the grass, looking up at the sky, he heard approaching footsteps. He glanced up to see a young woman walking towards him. She had short hair, and a round face with bright, hazel eyes. She was well-muscled, yet still retained a fairly normal shape. She was rather attractive, with a tiny bit of dirt smudged on her clothes. Marcus suddenly very much wished he was fully clothed.

She cleared her throat tentatively. "I was told you are to rest in my house tonight."

"Umm, if that's fine with you?" Marcus shrugged, "It was more of a whim than anything else. I've spent plenty of nights in the open, one more won't hurt." This had to be Sylgja. Her prettiness matched up with Filnjar's words in any event. He was a bit unsure as to share a house with the woman, even if it was just for one night. He hoped she was married or something, to ease the awkwardness that would arise if he was there alone.

 _Gods…_ Marcus dreaded, _What if I'm expected to make conversation?_ It wasn't as if he could talk about his occupation.

"Oh, in that case it's all the more reason to do it," she smiled, "It's the least we can do. You've put our town back on the map. Metaphorically."

"Hmm… As long as you're sure I'm not imposing."

"You killed a mine filled with vicious spiders, even if you were being imposing, you'd have a right to."

Sylgja turned and pointed at one of the houses in the middle. "That one there, that's my house. There's a spare bed to the left as you enter. Once your finished with…" she gestured to his half-clothed personage with a blush on her cheeks, unable to find the right words. "You can go inside at any time. They normally give the miners a stew just after nightfall, at the fire. You're welcome to join."

"Umm…" Marcus smiled. "Thank you, Sylgja." He averted his eyes downward, severing the conversation, much to the relief of both parties. Sylgja hurried off, finding herself rather flustered. Marcus made a personal note to always carry a backup shirt with him wherever he went from now on.

The afternoon came to a close, and Marcus was able to put the top half of his armour back on just as it started getting colder. As night embraced the world, a few of the men around the place moved a large pot over the cooking fire pit in the centre of the town, and began cooking a savory smelling stew.

Dinner was a fairly plain affair. The miners just sat in a circle and largely didn't talk. Marcus felt a few curious eyes on him, and a few threatening ones. As they began to walk away, Marcus stayed seated looking into the fire. One of the miners, and orc, walked past Marcus, and roughly grabbed him on the shoulder, and whispered to him in a low, dangerous voice, his gravelly voice right next to his ear.

"Don't try anything with Sylgja, or bury my pickaxe in your gut."

Marcus turned and looked the orc straight in the eye, a somewhat annoyed expression on his face.

"Noted." Marcus replied, in an even tone.

The orc grunted, and walked off. Marcus stayed where he was, gazing into the slowly dying fire. If he waited long enough, Sylgja might be asleep and he could just go straight to bed without having to endure any awkward interactions.

 _I should've just accepted the money,_ thought Marcus.

Once everyone had disappeared, Marcus walked over to Sylgja's house and gently pushed open the door. He expected to see her asleep, but instead, she was sitting on a chair, reading a book.

She looked up as he entered. "You finally show up. I thought you'd decided to leave."

"I was tempted."

"Why?"

Marcus scratched his cheek, and chose his words carefully. "Some of your townsmen are less than pleased with my decision to sleep here."

"Huh," Sylgja huffed indignantly. "You should've seen them when I first came here. The amount of lip they gave me for being a woman miner… and now they act as if they own me? Idiots."

Marcus smiled, "Well, be that as it may, I'll be sure to leave early as to not cause you too much future hassle."

Sylgja nodded, "That isn't necessary, but I appreciate it."

Marcus walked over and sat down on the single bed in the corner. "Why do you have a second bed if you live alone?"

Sylgja replied, "This house used to belong to an older man, and his son. The son died of some illness, I was told, and he decided to leave the town. When I moved here from Darkwater Crossing, I never got around to removing the second bed."

Marcus blinked, "Oh, you're from Darkwater Crossing? You must have a family of miners."

"You've been to Darkwater?" Sylgja looked surprised, "You must get around."

Marcus nodded, "I'm going through there tomorrow, actually. I'm heading up past Windhelm."

"I don't suppose you'd do me a favour?" Sylgja asked tentatively. "I need to deliver some letters to my parents there, and I can't do it myself at the moment, I'm afraid."

"Sure," Marcus shrugged. "As I said I'm going that way anyway, I'd be happy to help you out."

Sylgja fetched the letters she wanted delivered, and placed them beside Marcus in a satchel.

Then Marcus laid back on the bed, and stared up at the lines made by the wooden roof, thinking about various things. He briefly wondered what kind of troubles he might encounter with Mercer at Snow Veil Sanctum tomorrow. The delivery of the letters wasn't going to be the main event of that day, he was sure.

A sudden gasp of pain and the sound of a body hitting wooden floor ripped him out of his daydream. He snapped his head to the side to see Sylgja on the floor, clutching her leg, shuddering. In an instant, he was by her side, steadying her and bringing her into a sitting position. She clutched her knee, as her face contorted in pain.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly, "What happened?"

"It's… fine," she said through gritted teeth.

"It most certainly is not." Marcus replied, a concerned frown on his face. "How bad is the injury?"

"No, it's just a passing thing, an accident that happened in the mine," Sygja replied stubbornly, determined to brush off the event. "I'm fine most of the time."

"Ismir," muttered Marcus, rolling his eyes. "Put aside your nordic pride for a single moment. Have you attempted to heal it at all?" _Gods, I sound like Collette..._

"A travelling healer came by," Sylgja said, "He did his best. There's nothing more than can be done, so I just need to-" She strained at the floor, trying to push herself up, but finding she didn't have the strength.

Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder, "Calm down, let me help."

He knelt down, and picked her up in his arms. She gasped quietly in surprise, but didn't resist. Marcus walked over to her bed and laid her down.

He asked plainly, "Where are you hurt?"

She gestured to her right leg. "It was a minor cave in. A large rock fell on my leg and crushed it. The healer did a lot of good, but he said there was 'nerve damage' remaining."

Marcus nodded, "Ok. I understand." He reached forward and placed his hands on her leg.

"What are you doing?" Sylgja frowned, "Why are you – ahh!"

A bright glow spread from Marcus' fingers, and rushed downward to the dark leather pants Sylgja wore. An intense warmth filled her body, and the pain in her leg subsided immediately. Her lips parted, as she took in a sharp breath of air, eyes closed.

Then the warmth slowly faded, and was replaced with relief, like when you finally get to sit down after a long run. The she opened her eyes, and lifted her right leg up. It was completely fine. No more pain, no more shaking. She glanced up at Marcus, eyes wide. "You… you fixed it. Completely."

Marcus smiled, "Good. I'm glad. I've healed worse, but it's only ever been on myself. Good to see I can do a little bit of the same for other people."

Then he stood up, and walked back over to his bed. As if healing Sylgja of something that had been plaguing her for weeks was nothing. Sylgja just stared at him for a while, unsure what to say. Marcus laid down, and resumed staring at the ceiling.

After a while, she said, in a quiet voice. "Thank you..."

Marcus answered with a quiet snore.

* * *

The following morning, Sylgja awoke to find Marcus gone, with her letters. He must've gotten up early and left. She was disappointed, for more reasons than she'd care to admit. She'd never gotten a chance to thank him properly, and he had been the only person in the entire town who'd been able to maintain any degree of conversation, without making passes at her.

She got out of bed, and for the first time in weeks, felt no pain from doing so. A relieving, bubbling happiness filled her, and she prayed she would see Marcus once more so she could say thanks to him properly.

Sylgja left her house, but didn't want to go to work straight away. She wanted to go for a walk, now that she actually could. She headed out of town, heading along the road toward Riften. She wasn't planning on going all the way to Riften, but there were bandits and other assorted troubles further on the road down the mountain range.

As Sylgja was walking, she picked up a few flowers on the road, to take back to her house and brighten the place up with a bit of colour. As she bent down to pick up a particularly bright Dragon's Tongue, she came under the feeling that she was being watched. It was like a sixth sense, or something. She just didn't feel… right. For the most part, she brushed it off and kept walking, trying to enjoy the sights and sounds of the morning. After 30 minutes of walking, she could've sworn she heard a twig snap.

Sylgja stopped, and turned around, scanning the bushes and trees on the side of the road. She began to feel worried. What if a saber cat had been stalking her? They generally weren't seen around this area, but anything was possible.

Then in the corner of her vision, she saw the blur of movement. Some kind of dark brown figure. She had just enough time to gasp in alarm, and half-turn, before her entire world went black.

She awoke an unknown amount of time later, in a relatively small one-room shack. She opened her eyes to see herself bound and gagged, tied to a chair in the corner. The shack was probably a bit smaller than her own house. Outside, it looked dark. Night had fallen, so she must have been unconscious for the day. There was a large table in the middle of the shack, a pair daggers lay on it.

There were three men in the shack. One had dark hair, and stood near a window, looking out, another was skinny, and laid lazily back in a chair near the table, while a third sat on a bed sharpening a rather large axe. The third was the largest, and had numerous scars on his face.

Sylgja's eyes widened in alarm, and she started wriggling, wrestling against her bonds. The noise generated from such an action made the other three men in the shack take notice of her.

"Ah," the one lounging in the chair looked over at her with a grin, "the little doll is awake."

The one sharpening the axe looked up, and grinned, grunting in acknowledgement. The one looking out the window turned, and looked her up and down. The other two seemed to defer to the dark-haired one at the window.

The dark-haired man walked away from the window, pulled up a chair, and sat in front of Sylgja. He nodded to the blonde man. "Take off her gag."

The blonde man nodded, and walked over and untied it. As soon as she was able to speak, Sylgja started hurling insulting questions.

"Who the hell do you think you are?!" she shouted, "What the hell do you want with me? You think you'll get away with this?! I'm -"

The dark-haired man reached forward and clamped a hand over her mouth. "I'll ask the questions. You will give me answers, or we will hurt you. Badly. Understood?"

The large man hefted his axe in the corner of her vision menacingly. Sylgja's eyes went wide, and after a few seconds, she nodded slowly.

"Good." The dark-haired man nodded. "The man you had in your house last night. What is your relationship with him? Will he be coming to see you again?"

Sylgja's face twisted in confusion. She didn't understand why Marcus would be relevant. He was just a traveller.

She blurted out "What's Marcus got to do with this?"

The dark-haired man frowned deeply, as if he hadn't known the name, just knowing what the man looked like. " **We** will ask the questions."

The blonde man brought over another chair, and sat behind the dark-haired man, staring at Sylgja while grinning. His smile… unnerved her.

Sylgja gulped, "I don't know, he's just a traveller who cleared out the mine of spiders. He wanted somewhere to sleep overnight, and I had a spare bed."

The blonde man raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you're not his chosen wench? I'd assumed he'd shacked up with you cause you were the only lady in that sorry town."

"What?!" cried Sylgja incredulously. "Of course not! Marcus was very gentlemanly."

"Huh," the dark-haired man chuckled without humor. "That man is anything but a gentleman. What gentleness did he show our friends and family in Fort Greenwall? He massacred them all. We survived only because we were hunting in the woods…"

"What?" Sylgja looked more confused. Marcus seemed competent at fighting, more so than anyone else in Shor's Stone, but taking on an entire fort filled with what she now assumed were bandits? That sounded like something the Dragonborn would do.

"We could hear the shouts..." the large man mumbled in a low voice, "The valley carried the sound of his Thu'um to us. We ran home, but we were too late."

Sylgja's eyes went wide. Marcus, was the Dragonborn. He had to be. He came down from the north, with armour in need of repair. He was powerful enough to set the mine on fire, and was being watched by the bandit remnants of a fort that had been eliminated using Thu'um. The knowledge that she'd spent time in the company of the actual Dragonborn, without even noticing, was shocking. She'd have thought you could recognize the folk-lore hero from a mile off.

"So, I ask you this again," the dark-haired man said, "Will Marcus be coming to see you again?"

Sylgja looked hesitant, but another heft of the axe persuaded her to talk. "He… he's delivering some letters for me. He might bring some back..."

"Where?"

Sylgja gulped, looking down at the ground. She didn't want to tell them anything, but she also didn't want to die. "D… Darkwater Crossing. I have… acquaintances there."

"I know the place," the blonde man said, "It's probably a day's walk from here."

"Good..." the dark haired man nodded with grim satisfaction. "He'll be back tomorrow, late afternoon, maybe midday if he's a fast walker. He'll realize that his little wench is missing, and he'll run off to be the big 'hero' and look for her. A perfect opportunity for a trap."

The blonde man nodded quickly, as if he'd just realized something rather exciting. "Morning's just a few hours off, isn't it? Right? That means we have a bit of time to..." he glanced grinning in Sylgja's direction. "Relax. 'Enjoy' ourselves. Right?"

The large man grunted, nodding. An evil grin spread across his large, scarred face. He put aside the axe.

The dark-haired man looked at the other two men's gaze on the woman, and smiled, "Hmm… I guess. Just don't be too rough. We need her alive."

Sylgja's eyes shot upwards. Realization crept up on her slowly, as she saw the… hungry looks in the eyes of the men, all of which were now fixed on her. Then the full horror of what they were implying hit her, and panic set in.

She twisted vigorously against the bonds, knocking herself and the chair over onto the floor. The chair shattered, freeing herself from her immediate bonds. But the men had already moved between her and the door. Her freedom was barred, and the last thing she wanted was to get closer to the men discussing such a vile act with such… casual tones.

The blonde man walked forward first, and Sylgja scurried backwards like a frightened animal, burying herself in the corner. "Y… You can't do that! You… you can't..."

The blonde man laughed. "Come now, I'll be gentle..."

He approached slowly, taking his time. He reached down to grasp the collar of Sylgja's shirt, but she batted his hand away, and lashed out trying to kick him. Her breathing became rapid and hoarse. She felt small, in the corner, surrounded by such three… disgusting men.

The blonde man's face split into a lustful grin, and he reached down with both arms and grabbed a hold of Sylgja. She kicked and clawed at him, raking her nails across his face and drawing blood.

"Damn it!" the blonde man shouted, twisting so his face was out of her reach "give me a hand here!"

The large man lunged forward eagerly, and grabbed a hold of both Sylgja's arms. She wrestled and tried to kick them away, but they were too strong. She wasn't weak by any standards, but these were men who'd lived a harsh, warrior's lifestyle. It was too much.

The blonde man slammed her against the table, face down. His 'nicer' demeanor was gone. "Got a little fire in you, eh?" he said roughly. "Good."

"You won't get away with this!" Sylgja screamed, struggling against the men as they held her down.

"You should stop struggling," the dark-haired man said slowly, running his eyes over her entire form. "There's no rescue coming. Your 'hero' Marcus is at least half a day's travel away. The path to Darkwater Crossing is a day long. He's have to sprint there and back, while somehow finding a way to cut down a quarter of the entire trip. Just… relax."

The two men holding Sylgja bent her body so that her legs were hanging off the table, while her upper body was lying against it. The strength to resist had left her, exhaustion sapping away her efforts. She just slowly mumbled weak protests. Repeating 'Please don't' and 'No' over and over again.

"Enough waiting..." the blonde man said, licking his lips. He reached forward and began tearing Sylgja's lower clothing off, exposing her legs until her lower half was naked spare for her undergarments.

The large man grunted again, a deeper animalistic sound, as he devoured Sylgja's form with his eyes. The blonde gestured for him to move back.

"She's mine first," the blonde man said, "I'm the one who captured her, remember?"

The large man grunted in annoyance, but stayed away. Instead, he reached down into his pants to ease the… growing discomfort.

Sylgja closed her eyes, tears running down her cheeks and onto the wood of the table.

The blonde man reached forward to pull down her underwear, before an odd sound was heard outside.  
 **"Fus..."**

"Huh?" the blonde man looked up. "You hear that?"

Then the entire back wall exploded.

* * *

 _12 hours earlier._

The midday sun was just past it's peak. Marcus looked out over the waterfall leading down into the misty volcanic tundra. It was an impressive sight, especially since it was a clear day. He walked to the edge, just next to the rushing water, and looked down. He could see the end of the waterfall below, and the river it fed into. He wanted to get down and deliver the letters as fast as he could, before moving up to meet with Mercer near Windhelm. The Thieve's Guild Master wasn't the kind of person to keep waiting, and Marcus was on semi-thin ice after his rather uncharacteristically honorable methods of completing his tasks.

Now, the quickest way down a waterfall, is via the water. Marcus had used the same trick multiple times in the Reach, and near Solitude. Of course, Marcus knew he could use his 'Become Ethereal' shout to ensure he hit the water safely, but it didn't last that long, and he didn't want Sylgja's letters to get wet. If he was to turn ethereal to ensure he survived the rocks at the base of the waterfall, it'd wear off before he left the water, then the whole trip would be wasted. There wasn't a steep enough cliff anywhere else to have an uninterrupted jump all the way down, so if Marcus was to cut off the long roundabout trip down the mountain, he'd have to do something stupid.

Marcus stared down at the river's edge, judging distances. There weren't any rocks further away from the waterfall, and the shore was quite close to the deeper water, but the only way he could reach that water would be by using Whirlwind Sprint. And then, he wouldn't be able to turn ethereal until at least 10 seconds later. The letters would still get wet.

He had three choices. Go the long way, which he didn't want to do. Use 'Become Ethereal' and hope that he could reach the shoreline before it expired. Or, he could use 'Whirlwind Sprint' to get himself out over to the deeper water, throw the satchel with the letters to the nearby river's edge, and hope the water was deep enough to stop him from dying.

Marcus chose the third option, briefly considering how leaping off a waterfall to possible death was something he'd never considered himself doing in the past. Yet now, it just seemed as the most convenient choice. The possibility of death was there, yet that was such a common presence in his life that it almost avoided recognition.

 _Maybe I am insane…_ Marcus mused, chuckling to himself. Still, this would cut off most of the trip to Darkwater Crossing.

Then, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air, before running at the edge of the cliff at full sprint.

* * *

Marcus arrived in Darkwater Crossing looking rather damp, carrying an entirely dry satchel of letters. He walked around, not seeing many people. Most of them would've been in the mine, he assumed.

As he looked around, he saw a lone woman kneeling near the tents, putting some firewood in a pile. He walked up and cleared his throat. The woman looked up.

"I'm looking for the parents of Sylgja, from Shor's Stone." Marcus said. "I have some letters for them."

"Oh," the woman stood up. "I'm Annekke. I'm Sylgja's mother, is she alright? She normally makes the deliveries herself."

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, "She was hurt in the mine, a minor leg thing. I agreed to deliver the letters, since I was passing by."

"I see," Annekke stroked her chin thoughtfully. She ran her eyes over Marcus' form. "Is that all you are to her? A passer-by?"

"Of course," Marcus shrugged, "Why would I be anything else?"

"Oh, nothing," Annekke sighed, "Shame. Anyway, can you deliver some letters back? I'm sure Sylgja would reward you?"

Marcus chewed his lip, he didn't want to spend too long galavanting about the rift. He did have other things to take care of… Though, heading back to Shor's Stone, then coming back to this same path wouldn't take too long, given his new discovery of a downward vertical shortcut.

"Fine," Marcus sighed, "I'll take them back."

"Thank you," Annekke nodded deeply to show her gratitude. Marcus followed her to the house, where Annekke brought him another satchel filled with letters. As she handed them over, she sized Marcus up and down. "Do you go through Shor's Stone often? Do you see my daughter often?"

"No Ma'am," Marcus shook his head. "I've only been there once, being yesterday. Sylgja seems nice enough though."

"Hmmm..." Annekke mused, looking at Marcus with a funny expression on her face. "Well. I better not keep you."

"Likewise," Marcus nodded. He turned on his heel and walked out of the town. Once he was a good distance away, he looked up at the sun, and judged the time. At a brisk jog, he could make it to Shor's Stone a little after sundown, with some luck and assuming he didn't get accosted by wild animals on the way. The 'waterfall' shortcut had cut off a fair bit of the journey.

He just hoped Mercer wouldn't be too unhappy when Marcus showed up a day later than planned.

* * *

Marcus crouched down on the road, and examined a downtrodden Dragon's Tongue flower. It had been plucked recently, then discarded before being squashed. Sylgja. It had to be.

He'd gotten back to Shor's Stone just after nightfall, to find it in a state of panic. Apparently Sylgja had gone for a walk in the morning, and hadn't come back. The remaining men in the town were worried, but were too scared of whatever had attacked Sylgja to go looking for her. Some assumed a Dragon had taken her, others thought it might be wolves. Marcus wanted to find out. He hoped she was ok, or at least had died painlessly. He wasn't looking forward to giving the bad news to Annekke and her husband.

But the flower in the center of the road gave him hope. He doubted anyone else had been on this section of road recently, least of all someone who'd pick up a flower. He walked off to the side of the road, and knelt down to examine a pair of drag marks in the ground, followed by footprints still fresh in the dirt.

A person had been dragged off the road, then carried. Marcus' heart began to flutter. Sylgja was still alive. Or at least, she hadn't been killed by wild animals or dragons. He began to quickly jog after the tracks, keeping his eyes glued on the dirt. He had a feeling this was his fault. There would be no other reason as to why someone would kidnap a simple miner, other than their association with him.

Marcus followed the tracks for about 30 minutes, before coming across a small shack, far off the trail. There were lights on, inside the house. Slowly, he crept up to the side of the shack, and placed an ear against the wood. It wasn't a thick wall, so he could make out roughly what they were saying.

A harsh voice spoke, "She's mine first. I'm the one who captured her, remember?"

A soft cry of desperate fear was heard, followed by a quiet "Please, no."

Marcus stood up instantly, eyes blazing. He'd heard all he needed to hear. He faced the wall, drew his sword and dagger, and took a deep breath in the space of a second.

" **Fus… Ro Dah!"**

The wall exploded inwards, bits of wood going flying. Marcus was inside the shack before the pieces of wood had hit the floor. He launched himself inside, and fell upon the men as a whirling form of death.

The blonde man went first, slashed across the throat by Marcus' sword. The dark-haired man got his dagger halfway drawn before Marcus' sword cut off his hand, and his dagger buried itself into the man's neck.

The brute lumbered forward and swung an overhead cut at Marcus, who promptly dodged out of the way, and stabbed him in the neck with his dagger. He then switched the grip on his dagger, and used it as a handle to pull the large man forward so Marcus could run his sword through his chest easier.

They all died in the space of about 6 seconds. When Sylgja finally opened her eyes, she and Marcus were the only ones left. She saw him, facing away from her, staring down at the corpses.

She immediately rolled off the table, and scrabbled onto the floor, grabbing her pants and slipping them on with shaking hands. Marcus hadn't moved.

Sylgja looked up at him, fear and desperation still rushing through her body. She then stood up and rushed to the window, leaning out and throwing up. The culmination of nerves, shock and horror had been too much.

Marcus waited for her to finish. When he was certain she was fully clothed, and capable of speaking, he turned back to face her.

"They were after me, weren't they?"

Sylgja nodded slowly. "Y… yes."

Marcus looked down at himself. "I'm sorry."

Sylgja didn't answer. Marcus reached forward, and gently took her by the hand. "Come on," he said, in an encouraging tone. "Let's take you home."

They walked in silence. Sylgja wasn't talking, and Marcus didn't want to force her to. He led her to the edge of the town, and let her walk off while he stayed at the treeline. There were assorted cries of happiness and relief as Sylgja emerged into view from the darkness. Sylgja walked past most of them without saying anything, stopping only to grab the satchel of letters that Marcus had left on her doorstep. Marcus decided not to be seen. He figured he'd done enough to her life as is.

Marcus turned and started walking, back the same way he'd walked nearly 24 hours ago, only this time without some kind of delivery. He was tired, but didn't feel like sleeping. He'd spent enough time in the Rift, and would look forward to a change of scenery for at least a week.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter was going to be out sooner, but I started writing another chapter before realizing it would make more sense if it was placed after this chapter, so yeah. Next chapter should be out sooner. Hopefully.**

 **This chapter was certainly more 'serious' than the others. A bit of a darker tone, but that's life. Not every adventure is happy. Plus, this enables me to justify a few more aspects of Marcus' mentality later on.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Notes: I skipped most of the thieve's guild questline, or 'fast-tracked' it, rather. It'd mostly be boring stuff, and would take far too long. I just wanted to cover the final stages because they were pretty cool, and wanted to put Nocturnal in her place a bit. Daedra are too snooty, if you ask me. This chapter is a bit over the place too, I should warn you.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 28 – An Honorable Thief

Mjoll breathed out heavily. "I've never seen anything like it..."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Coming from you, that must really mean something."

They gazed across the vista of Blackreach, their eyes soaking in each unique feature. The towering dwemer structures, the glowing ore veins strewn across the walls and cavern roof, the gigantic mushrooms, and the huge glowing ball hanging from the cavern roof in the middle of the dwemer structures.

It was… incredible, for lack of any other more detailing words. The entire place was massive, and every inch of it was crammed with something interesting. Apart from the Falmer, that was.

Mjoll kept her head moving side to side, taking it all in. The door they'd just entered Blackreach from wasn't elevated itself, but they were on the higher side of the cavern, so most of the area was visible. "You know, when you'd asked me to help you out exploring an old dwemer ruin, this wasn't actually what I was anticipating."

"I know how you're feeling. If I'd known the place was this impressive, I would've grabbed all three of my housecarls just to show them."

Mjoll took her eyes away from the view to frown in disbelief at Marcus. "You have three housecarls? I thought you just had Iona?"

Marcus grinned, "Not exactly. The Jarls of Skyrim hand out the title of Thane as much as they hand out taxes. Not that I pay any taxes."

Mjoll shook her head, smiling, and took a few steps forward away from the door that they'd just gone through. She walked forward, emerging onto a road of sorts that stretched side to side, and seemed to run around the edge of the cavern. There wasn't much of anything around.

Marcus walked up and joined her, scanning the edges of the buildings. Far off, he could see a few silhouettes moving about on towers and walkways, probably just Falmer. They looked to be safe for the time being, though.

"How about we head to the right?" Mjoll asked, "Looks to be less overpasses."

"The path will probably take us into the city, though." Marcus pointed to the large cluster of buildings underneath the huge glowing ball.

"Maybe. I'm better at fighting in closer spaces anyway."

Marcus nodded, "Good plan."

They walked off to the right, making their way around the edge of Blackreach, and toward the buildings. As they walked, Mjoll felt she should raise a topic that had been on her mind.

"Any news of the Thieves Guild I should know about?"

Marcus stiffened, then relaxed. "I haven't told you about what's happened, have I?"

Mjoll frowned, "No… why? Has our plan changed?"

Marcus chewed his lip as he walked, his face darkening. "That thing I did with Mercer, up past Snow Veil Sanctum. It… it didn't end well."

"In what way?"

Marcus's voice turned hard, "Turns out that the murderer was a girl called Karliah, and she wasn't actually a murderer. Mercer was the killer. When they confronted each other, it was all revealed." Marcus gritted his teeth, his face clouding with subtle anger. "Then Mercer stabbed me in the heart."

"What?!" cried Mjoll. "How did you survive?"

"Karliah saved me," Marcus explained, "She used a paralysis poison that slowed my body down so I didn't bleed out. I woke up outside the tomb, with her bandaging up my chest."

"This'll just make our plan easier though, right?" Mjoll said expectantly. "If Mercer has gone rogue, he'll be that much easier to bring down, then the whole Guild will be destabilized."

Marcus was quiet. Mjoll waited for him to answer. Her concerns about his motives grew with each second.

Marcus took a deep breath. "I'm… I'm having second thoughts about this whole 'bring down the Guild from within' plan..."

"What?" Mjoll couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You were the one that proposed the idea in the first place. Why give up now?"

Marcus stopped walking, and looked up at the cavern roof, speckled with glowing blue rock, collecting his thoughts.

Eventually, he said, "They don't deserve it. They don't deserve their livelihood to be brought down around their ears. Some of them are greedy, yes, but they haven't killed anyone, nor have they stolen more than they needed to."

"What?!" Mjoll cried again, "How can you say that? They're thieves, Marcus. They are **criminals**." She dragged out each syllable in 'criminals' to emphasize her point.

"I know, I know," Marcus said reluctantly. "But they're also my friends. They've pulled my ass out of several fires over the past few weeks, and Karliah saved my life. All they need it a bit of… retargeting, and they could potentially be a force for good. Or at least, they won't be a force for evil."

Mjoll just kept opening and closing her mouth, trying to decide on what type of words to use. She looked really quite stricken.

"Mercer will be brought down," Marcus said, "and the Thieves Guild will have to change, sooner or later. But I don't want to sell them out." Marcus reached over and clapped her on the shoulder. "But for now, let's leave the topic. I doubt this city will be empty."

Mjoll looked up. They'd already arrived at the edge of the dwarven city, or building cluster. She sighed, and nodded, before drawing Grimsever.

They fought through area, clearing out buildings one by one, looking for the scroll. Marcus wasn't sure which building he was looking for, as all Septimus told him was that it was a 'tower'. Not very specific.

But after clearing out the largest of the buildings in blackreach, and making his way to the top, Marcus saw something interesting. And walked off to the side of a large room.

Mjoll kept going forward, not noticing Marcus hang back, and stepped out through a large set of double doors at the top of the building. She emerged onto a walkway, suspended above the city, at the same height as the huge glowing ball. She gasped in awe, as she could see the entirety of Blackreach laid out in front of her. Every glowing vein, the gigantic mushrooms, the structures, the rivers, all of it.

"Marcus," she called, looking back and forth across the view, "You're going to want to see this."

Marcus called back, "Just a minute..."

He was standing in front of a sort of… display. There was a small grate in front of him, blocking him from reaching what was behind it, on a small pedestal. It was a book, of sorts, except it was really wide, and rather thin. It was surrounded by a couple ebony ingots.

Despite how long the book must've been sitting there, it hadn't aged. Marcus knew he couldn't grab any old thing he saw in dwarven ruins, but this particular book had piqued his curiosity. Why was it sealed off? Pretty much every other chest or item had nothing more than a basic lock. With this book, it didn't look like there was any way to access it.

In retrospect, there might've been some kind of secret latch or button that Marcus could've pressed, but he didn't really want to waste tame trying to find it. In any event, what's the point in naturally talented in the Thu'um, if he gave up opportunities to use it?

"Fus, ro Dah!

Mjoll burst back through the door she'd left, sword drawn, ready to fight whatever might be attacking Marcus. Instead, she saw him picking through a bunch of rubble from a semi-destroyed wall, and withdrawing a book.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mjoll asked, a confused look on her face.

Marcus looked up at her, then back at the book in his hands, then at the display cage he'd just demolished. "Isn't it kinda obvious? I wanted the book."

Mjoll rolled her eyes, as Marcus flipped through the book. It wasn't a spell tome, that much he could tell. It was written in dwemeris, and had lots of diagrams that seemed to detail a kind of armor. Two, actually. The first was like plate armor, except made of a bunch of giant bones, in place of where steel plates would be. The second armor was a kind of black chainmail. There were diagrams displaying the deconstruction and construction of the armor, but Marcus couldn't be sure. Without reading the text, it could've been a recipe for an armor-shaped cake and he wouldn't know.

Marcus pocketed the book. He'd have to head up to the College sometime and have Urag translate it. He was yet to regret keeping a random seemingly ineligible book he'd found in an underground place.

"You done?" Mjoll asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Marcus said sheepishly, "let's go."

They walked out through the door, and it was Marcus' turn to gasp. He gazed across the entirety of the cavern. This view was way better than the one at the Blackreach entrance.

They walked over and sat at the edge, their legs hanging off the walkway. They didn't say anything at first, each one admiring the view themselves.

Eventually, Mjoll spoke up. "Do you really mean to stay in the Guild? Were you serious about abandoning our plan?"

Marcus looked down at his swaying feet for a moment before answering. He wasn't entirely sure on the details of his new idea, but he did know one thing.

"Let me tell you about Karliah. A long time ago, she was in love with the previous Guild Master, a guy named Gallus. Then Mercer murdered him, framed her for the death, and she got cast out of the only home she's ever had, spending the last 25 years on the run."

Mjoll frowned, but didn't say anything.

Marcus continued, "For 25 years she was hiding. She never stayed in the same place twice, always covered her tracks, and looked over her shoulder fearfully every day. Karliah spent cold nights outside without a campfire, she turned her back on all her friends, and has had to build a network of allies from the ground up, doing goodness knows what to gain their trust. She's been living that life for longer than I've been **alive** , Mjoll." He turned to face her, looking her in the eyes. Mjoll felt a touch of colour enter her cheeks under Marcus' unwavering gaze.

"I won't pretend like I'm morally infallible," Marcus said, "But I know that ensuring that Karliah gets her home back, and ensuring that home stays in one piece, isn't an evil thing to do."

Marcus turned to look out at the big glowing ball. The orange light it gave off reflected in the bright orange-hazel of his own eyes. "Many of the Guild have a similar story. They wanted to live their life the best they could, with what they were given, as does everyone. It's just with these people, that pushed them down the path of thievery. Sure, they take things that don't belong to them, but Skyrim never belonged to the nords, and the Thu'um never belonged to mortals."

"Are you justifying the act of theft?" Mjoll asked, disappointment on her face.

Marcus shook his head, "No. I'm justifying why some people do it." He stood up, and brushed himself off. "Come on, let's keep moving. I want to breath some fresh air again. Let's find that all-powerful scroll and get out of here."

* * *

Marcus and Mjoll walked into the main chamber in the Tower of Mzark. There was a large apparatus in the center, attached to the ceiling. Marcus was reminded of the Oculory, when he met the Synod.

He walked into the center of the room, gazing up at the various turquoise-colored disks and seeing an egg-shaped container in the center. As he saw the central container, his heart involuntarily skipped. That had to be the scroll.

Glancing around, Marcus found a nearby journal on a corpse. It seemed to belong to some long-dead adventurer, who'd tried to unlock the apparatus. After giving it a quick read, he headed up to the top of the room, four podiums stood, each with their own button. Using the notes, he was able to decipher a certain 'procedure' on how to operate the dwarven machine. Using random, blind button pushes wouldn't work in this instance. The dwarves would've been too smart. After 30 minutes, and listening to Mjoll's occasional input, Marcus managed to unlock the final button.

His reached forward to press it, but hesitated. He didn't know why. Probably just nerves. Marcus swallowed nervously, reached out, and pressed his finger down on the soft blue surface.

Instantly the apparatus, which had moved considerably since Marcus had first entered the room, clicked and whirred. The egg-shaped container then began to move on its own, the other disks and struts slowly moving out of its way. It lowered itself it the ground, and separated into two halves, revealing the contents.

The world seemed to slow down for Marcus. His vision shifted, so that the container was pretty much the only thing in focus. Mjoll said something, but her voice was a thousand leagues away. Before he knew it, he was a few meters from the case, without even noticing he'd begun to walk toward it in the first place.

The Elder Scroll was… bright, for lack of a better word. It gleamed as if giant mirrors were directing all the light in the room toward it. Marcus felt his blood heat up, and his heart pounded. He stepped closer to the scroll, hardly in control of his actions. In the back of his mind, he felt the exact same way he'd felt during his first battle at the Western Watchtower. As if destiny itself was in control of his muscles. Each movement closer to the scroll made the world feel like it was slowly shifting into place.

He reached out, and grasped the scroll in both hands. Slightly shakily, he lifted it out of the container, and held it in his arms. He stared down at it for an unknown period of time, examining each marking and engraving.

His magical senses weren't the greatest, but he could easily sense the magical aura surrounding the object. Like he was holding a mini-portal to Aetherius in his hands. It didn't help that he knew how powerful it was. What had been Arngeir's words?

" _The Gods themselves would rightly fear to tamper with such things."_

Marcus knew he'd have to be careful.

"Marcus!" called Mjoll, "Are you ok?"

Marcus jolted, pulled out of his daze. He turned and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Got kinda… distracted."

Mjoll walked over, and looked at the scroll. After a moment, she sighed, and bit her lip. "Keep an eye on that thing, Marcus. Make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

Marcus nodded, and slung it on his back. The scroll was large, but not very heavy. It probably just contained magical energy, rather than much paper. They walked out a nearby doorway, towards a large dwarven lift. They pulled the lever, and sat themselves down in the centre. With some clicks and groans, it began moving upward, and the two prepared themselves for a long, yet safe trip up to the surface.

Marcus examined the scroll a little more, before putting away and looking at Mjoll.

"One for the history books, eh?" he said with a smile. "I doubt you've ever retrieved an Elder Scroll before in past adventures."

"No," Mjoll chuckled, shaking her head, "Nothing like this. Probably for the best." She stretched, and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I'm getting older, not many wild adventures left in me."

"Oh come on," Marcus smiled, "You're only what, mid thirties? That's not retiring age."

"I didn't say I'm getting decrepit," Mjoll shrugged, "I just meant that I'd rather settle down, instead of going out on adventures."  
"That makes sense, I guess." Marcus sighed, scratching his cheek. "Sorry to drag you halfway across Skyrim, then."

"Once in a while is good," she said with a warm smile in his direction.

They lapsed into silence. Marcus used the time to wrap a bandage around a small cut on his arm from a Falmer, while Mjoll looked at him with a curious expression. Marcus didn't notice, focusing on the task at hand.

"What about you?" Mjoll asked, "When all this 'savior of the world' business is over, are you going to find someone to have a family with?"

Marcus sighed, tying a little not in the bandage. "I'm not the kind of person who settles down after the long road has come to an end, and creates a family or whatever. It's not that I wouldn't want that, it's just that… I don't think my road's ever going to end, you know? I'm just… not that kind of person."

Mjoll said, "Anyone can be that kind of person, Marcus. Look at me. I was one of the most devoted adventurers in Tamriel, but fast forward a few years, and now I'm looking for a place to settle down, with… someone… special."

The young man shrugged, and laid on his back, looking up at the whirring, clicking gears and metal as it passed by. He didn't notice Mjoll's pointed glance at him as she said 'someone'.

"It's not so simple," Marcus said quietly. "I don't think Alduin will be the end, there'll always be dragons, there'll always be bandits, there'll always be another thing for me to fight."

"No-one says you have to handle all of it."

"Haven't you heard the songs? 'An end to the evil, of **all** Skyrim's foes.' If I 'settled' down, or whatever, I'd be neglecting a duty. All the deaths that followed because of such foes would be on my head."

Mjoll went silent, staring at her hands, occasionally glancing at Marcus with a saddened expression. He had a point, but she felt like he was missing something.

"Besides," Marcus said, "I can't have children, so creating a family isn't really possible."

Mjoll asked, "What do you mean? Why can't you have children?"

"Infertile."

"Oh..." Mjoll's face fell, "I'm… I'm so sorry."

"It's ok," Marcus shrugged somberly, "There was never any other way for it to turn out."

"Huh?" Mjoll didn't understand, but she didn't know if she should pry or not.

"It's the prophecy," Marcus explained, "It refers to me as 'The Last Dragonborn'. Thus, for that to be true, I can't have any children."

"Is that how it works? I wasn't aware your children would be 'complete' Dragonborns like you."

"It's hard to say, history's pretty mixed on the topic. There hasn't been enough Dragons around in history to actually test if those who had the Dragon blood were full-on Dragonborn. Needless to say, it doesn't change my situation. I've been to several healers and alchemists. They all gave me the same answer. I just figure the Gods don't want any more mortals with Dragon blood, but it might also just be plain bad luck."

Mjoll looked down mournfully, "That's… I'm sorry, Marcus."

The young man shrugged again, a look of glum acceptance on his face. "It's not that bad. I doubt I'd be a good father or husband anyway… always away from home and that, or risking my life. I wouldn't have a very distinct place in their lives."

"Well," Mjoll looked at him, smiling and attempting to change the subject to something happier, "you must have something to look forward to at the end of this..."

Marcus just twiddled his thumbs, not giving her an answer, which was an answer in itself. Mjoll's smile slowly faded as she understood what Marcus was thinking. He didn't think he'd have anything to look forward to.

Mjoll snorted disbelievingly. "Come on. Every hero needs a happy ending."

Marcus sighed, and looked up. The end of their elevator ride was coming to an end. He could see natural light creeping down the shaft from above.

"I'm not a hero. Not yet, anyway."

Mjoll looked down at her legs, trying to think of something nice to say to cheer up Marcus. She never got the chance, as the elevator came to a crushing halt inside a small building, with a large gate visible to the snowy environment outside.

"Ah," Marcus breathed in deeply, "Fresh air at last. Come on Mjoll, let's head back to Riften."

"Don't you want to deal with the scroll first?"

"There's a… few things I want to take care of in Riften first. The past isn't going anywhere, and Alduin is immortal. I have a bit of time."

* * *

It was a week later. Thanks to Gallus' journal, the truth about Mercer, and thus Karliah, had been revealed to the guild. Brynjolf and Karliah were waiting outside the standings stone, near Riften, waiting for Marcus, discussing the future of the Guild.

Karliah chewed her lip, and looked at Brynjolf. "Are you sure about that? He's not exactly a thief in a traditional sense."

Brynjolf nodded, "Marcus mightn't have the 'heart', but he's still a damn good thief, and has a kind of determination I've never seen before. He'll be able to lead the guild, better than anyone else at the moment, in any event."

Karliah mumbled, "Why did he even join in the first place, if he doesn't want to steal?"

"I don't know," admitted Brynjolf, "He takes from those he deems 'worthy' of having things taken from them. He has a different code to the rest of us."

Karliah frowned, "What, you mean to say he only steals from people he hates?"

"Not quite. One time he was assigned to steal an item from the Shatter-shields in Windhelm. He took one look at the contract, and promptly threw it aside, saying 'That family has had enough taken from them'. There was talk of kicking him out of the guild, but it died down after he started to make some progress with the… issues, you created."

Karliah leaned against the stone, smiling as she remembered how much effort she'd put into disrupting the guild. "And he's the one you want to lead a guild of Thieves? A thief with a conscience? That's playing with fire."

Brynjolf sighed, "Everything we do is playing with fire, at this point, but Marcus knows how to get things done, and someone like that is in short supply these days. Everyone else in the guild is already in whatever position suits them best. Marcus cares about the guild, and I think he'll be able to bring us back from the brink. He mightn't be a perfect thief, but the guild has enough of those. What it needs is an honest leader."

"You make a good case," Karliah nodded, "I agree. At least we know he won't be stealing from us. The guy seems to care very little about money."

They became aware of the noise of feet against dried leaves. Shortly after, Marcus emerged into view, walking up the path.

Brynjolf glanced quickly at Karliah, before Marcus got into earshot. "We're in agreement, then?"

She nodded curtly. "Yes."

* * *

Marcus leaned against the cold metal of a dwarven pipe, as Karliah helped bandage up Brynjolf's shoulder. He'd taken an unlucky swing from a falmer nightstalker, and needed a bit of rest. Nothing serious, but it needed tending to.

Marcus curled a hand into a fist, feeling the strange nightingale fabric through his hand. It wasn't leather, nor was it any other kind of cloth he knew of. It was strange. Probably not as protective as his usual armor, but it was much lighter, and made him almost impossible to see in shadows. Selling one's soul to Nocturnal had its perks, undoubtedly. Not that Marcus had actual sold his soul, unbeknownst to Karliah, or Nocturnal, or anyone.

It seemed the daedra hadn't bothered to look to closely to Marcus, and figure out that it wasn't just human souls she was dealing with. Not entirely.

Still, Marcus wasn't about to inform anyone. Not yet. He had a job to do. He had a bastard to kill. Dealing with Nocturnal and returning the glorified lockpick could wait. Marcus was going to confront Mercer, and he was going to enjoy the battle that he would ensure followed.

"I should be fine lass," Brynjolf said, rubbing his arm and getting to his feet, the white strip of cloth looking out of place on the midnight black armor, waving Karliah off. "Marcus' healing magic would've been enough anyway."

"We done?" Marcus asked, standing up straight and walking over.

"Yes," Karliah nodded, her eyes twinkling from behind her mask. "Let's not waste anymore time. We need to finish this before the whole place falls apart."

As if to punctuate her point, the entire room rumbled, and a few pebbles dropped down from the ceiling.

"I still don't see how the skeleton key helps him collapse a dwarven structure." Brynjolf mused, "I thought it just allows him to unlock anything."

"It's the connection to Nocturnal," Karliah said, "For a nightingale as experienced as Mercer, it opens certain… pathways. There's a lot more to it than meets the eye."

"Whatever," Marcus said dismissively. "It doesn't make him immortal, which is all that matters."

Brynjolf and Karliah exchanged a glance. Marcus pretended not to notice, readying his nightingale sword. He'd left his regular equipment behind in Riften, just this once. He didn't really know why. Marcus just felt like this particular moment should be done as a proper nightingale.

The small group moved forward, making their way through the damaged dwarven ruin slowly, fighting small groups of Falmer here and there. After another hour, they came to a large door.

They nodded to each other, and slowly crept through. In front of them, lay a gigantic statue. It was bronze, or some similar metal, easily the size of a large house, maybe even a castle. Towards the top, Marcus saw a figure pulling something out of the eye of the statue. His blood began to burn.

Mercer.

"There he is," Karliah whispered, "He hasn't seen us yet. Brynjolf, watch the door."

"Aye lass, nothing's getting by me."

Karliah said, "Marcus, see if you can get down that ledge and -"

"Karliah..." Mercer's voice carried out over the room. He turned away from the large statue's face to look at the three of them with contempt. "When will you learn you can't get the drop on me?"

Mercer charged some kind of spell in his hand, and released it, causing a tremor to resound throughout the chamber. Rocks crashed down from the ceiling, and the front half of the platform the three were standing on collapsed, tossing Marcus down below.

He hit the ground with a roll, coming up to his feet and drawing his black sword in one motion. Mercer had already moved, jumping down to the book that the elf statue was holding. With a snarl, the former guild master apprehended Marcus with anger. Marcus returned the look in kind.

Mercer growled, "When Brynjolf brought you before me, I could feel a change in the wind. At that moment I knew this would end with one of us at the end of a blade..."

Marcus stared Mercer straight in the eyes. "Give me the Key, Mercer." His voice was dangerously low, yet still loud enough to carry across the room.

"What's Karliah been filling your head with?" Mercer spat. "Tales of Thieve's with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, or the Key, or anything to do with the Guild."

"This has nothing to do with Nocturnal..." Marcus said slowly, taking a step forward. "This is about you betraying us. This is about you nearly killing me. This is about you twisting a thousand lies to ruin the life of Karliah. This is about you, justice, and revenge."

"Revenge is it?!" Mercer shouted, "When will you open your eyes and realize how little my actions differ from yours! We both lie, cheat, and steal to further our own ends!"

Marcus replied through gritted teeth, "The difference is I still have honor."

Mercer snorted in contempt, "It's clear you'll never see the Key as I do… an instrument of limitless wealth. Instead, you've chosen to fall over your own foolish code."

Marcus took another step forward, spinning the blade in his hand. "Believe me. If anyone is going to fall, it will be you."

Mercer drew his sword. "Then the die is cast! Once more, my blade shall taste nightingale blood!"

He readied his sword, but not before firing a spell at Brynjolf above. Marcus heard the man draw his daggers, and engage in a fight with Karliah.  
"Damn it!" she cried, "Bryonjolf, he's got control of you!"

"I'm sorry lass," Brynjolf groaned, seemingly struggling with the movement of his own lips. "I can't..."

The sounds of fighting came down from above, and Marcus knew he had one more reason to kill Mercer as soon as possible. As if he needed another.

Marcus started running, eyes fixed on the dark figure in front. The older man grinned vindictively, and sprinted forward to meet him. The two men met on the arm of the statue, Marcus at the lower point, and Mercer above. Their blades clashed, each man putting all their strength behind it. The sound of the magical metals colliding rang out through the chamber. They stayed almost frozen for a moment, each man pressing hard against the other.

Marcus pushed against Mercer's blade, the other man doing the same. With clenched teeth, Marcus stared Mercer in the eyes, right through the 'X' shape their crossed blades made.

"You threw away everyone you had… and for what?"

Mercer replied with a grunt of exertion, before leaning forward and smacking Marcus in the face with a headbutt. Marcus staggered backward, before bringing his sword up and parrying a strike from Mercer downward to the right. He stepped forward and punched the man in the ribs with his free left hand, before jumping backward again as Mercer slashed sideways in retaliation. The two men traded blows for several minutes, slowly moving around the statue as they swapped offensive and defensive positions. Eventually, they made their way to the shoulder of the statue.

"They meant nothing," Mercer said in between breaths, each man circling each other. "we're all here for riches, and nothing else."

Mercer lunged forward, thrusting for Marcus' torso. The young man dodged to the left, his feet dangerously close to the edge of the statue's arm. He then tossed his sword from his right hand to his left hand, and slashed upward at Mercer's arm. The older man jumped back fast, but not before Marcus was able to land a fairly deep cut on the man's wrist. Mercer hissed in pain, and struck down at Marcus with an overhead blow. Marcus dodged to the right, ducking and twisting as the blade sailed past his left shoulder.

Marcus then reached forward with his right arm, and grabbed Mercer by the shoulder, and pulled him forward, while pullshing himself upward, effectively switching places. Now Marcus had the high ground.

"You failed," Marcus said slowly, "You failed at every duty you had..."

Then lunged at each other once more, Mercer shouting a wordless cry of anger, while Marcus saying nothing. Marcus slashed sideways at Mercer's stomach, only for the man to jump backwards, and thrust forward for Marcus' face. The younger man arched backward, almost dodging the blade entirely, with the very tip of Mercer's dwarven sword cut across the side of Marcus' cheek.

Marcus felt the warm liquid trickle down his cheek, accompanied by a sting. He ignored it. Marcus retreated upwards, to the top of the statue, near its head. He dodged sideways to avoid another slash from Mercer, and darted his sword forward at an exposed section of Mercer's torso. The blade connected, slicing through the armor and burying the first few centimeters of point into the man's flesh. Mercer shouted angrily in pain, before taking a quick step forward and kicking Marcus in the chest.

Marcus fell backward, and quickly rolled to the side to avoid a follow-up downward thrust. He looked up at Mercer, who was clutching his side. Marcus' blow wasn't fatal, but it was a good wake-up call for Mercer. The former guild master looked at the wound, then down at Marcus with pure hatred. He reached into his pocket, and brought out what Marcus could only assume was the Skeleton Key. Mercer clenched his fist around it, and raised it up above him. Marcus got to his feet, seeing magical energy slowly swirl around the Key. He sprinted at Mercer, and was almost about to strike him down with his sword when the energy around the Key was released.

A wave of white-blue energy rushed outwards, filling the entire chamber in seconds. Then a huge tremor shook the ground, pushing both Marcus and Mercer to the ground. The Key had caused a minor earthquake, it seemed. With the entire cavern shaking and crumbling, they each tumbled off the head of the statue, and fell the 10 metres down to the statue's book. Mercer hit a few of the out-hanging sections of the statue's chest, and that slowed down his fall. Marcus had no such luck, and fell the entire distance uninterrupted. He landed poorly, on his side, and felt a lot of things in his leg crack as he hit the hard metal. He vision blurred briefly with pain, but he could see water begin to flow into the chamber, from cracks in the ceiling and from broken pipes. He tried to channel a little restoration magic through his leg, but it didn't do much to alleviate the pain and torn muscles. A wound this serious wouldn't heal soon, magic or not.

"You're more similar to me than you'd like, Marcus." Mercer gasped, pushing at the ground and getting into a kneeling position. "We both kill to get what we want, and we don't care about who gets in our way." Mercer slowly staggered to his feet, leaning against the side of the statue's hand that rested on top of the book. "How many men did you kill in order to reach me? Did you bother to find out if they deserved it? Did you even care?"

Marcus pushed at the ground, finding his right leg completely unable to support his weight. He got onto his hands and knees, pain pulsating through his body. The bones must've been completely shattered. A unlucky fall, nothing more, but at the worst possible time. He glanced sideways, already seeing two metres of water pooling down below. The entire cavern was going to be full in a minute.

Mercer retrieved his sword, and looked at the battered form in front of him. Marcus breathed heavily, panting at the ground, and mumbled something.

"What'd you say?" Mercer gave a tired grin, looking at the crippled figure of Marcus. "Do you have some kind of witty response? Some kind of moral justification?"

Marcus mumbled again, a bit louder, but still too quiet and disjointed for Mercer to hear, especially with all the rushing water gradually filling up the room.

"What did you say, boy?" Mercer took a few steps closer to Marcus.

Marcus craned his head upward, seeing a sight all too familiar. Mercer, holding his sword in one hand, over his barely mobile body.

Marcus smiled weakly. "I said: Come closer."

Then Marcus pushed against the ground with his one good leg, summoning all the strength in his body. He slam-tackled Mercer, grappling the man around the waist. They fell to the floor, and Marcus deliberately rolled the two of them over the edge of the book, down into the 4 metres of water below.

They hit the water, wrestling furiously. Marcus' leg sent frequent spikes of blaring pain into his mind, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on wrapping his hands around Mercer's neck and squeezing with all his might.

Mercer struggled, and clawed at Marcus' arms and face, but the young man was committed. They both began to feel the choking sensation of a lack of air. Marcus squinted his eyes and tightened his grip, focusing every ounce of his concentration onto the face of the man below him. The pain from Mercer's scratches, the pain from his leg, the pain from his lungs, he buried it all.

The two men rolled in the water, kicking around, but not resurfacing. Eventually, Mercer's kicks and frantic twists slowed. Marcus could see through half-open eyes, the man's face beginning to turn blue. The colour mixed well with the yellow spots beginning to appear on the edges of his vision.

Then another 5 seconds past, and Mercer stopped struggling. Marcus maintained his grip for another 5 seconds, before letting go. Mercer's body floated away, slowly beginning to sink. Marcus could feel the pain in his lungs worsening. He'd been partially out of breath before he'd even hit the water, but he had one more thing to do.

Marcus swam down, pushing his tired muscles and empty lungs to their limit. He grabbed Mercer's body, retrieved the Key, and then swam up as fast as he could go. He couldn't tell if the darkness around him was from the lack of natural light left in the chamber, or because he was nearly unconscious. He didn't even know if he was swimming in the right direction. He didn't even know if there was any space left at the top of the cavern.

* * *

"Where is he?" Karliah cried, peering desperately into the water. "Why hasn't he come up?"

"You saw him go tumbling off the side with Mercer," Brynjolf said, "You know as much as I do, lass."

They knew Mercer was dead, because the spell on Brynjolf had broken. The two managed to make their way to the top of the cavern, where a small hole led to a natural tunnel. But Marcus hadn't been seen since he tumbled off the edge of the book into the murky water.

Karliah felt the anxiety build up in her heart. She unslung her bow, tossing it aside. "I'm going in, I need to look for him."

"No, Karliah!" Brynjolf reached forward and grasped her, pulling the stricken elf back. "This whole place is coming apart, and it's pitch black in there! You go in, and you're not coming back out."

"What about the Key?!" cried Karliah, turning to face Brynjolf and pushing him back, "We might never get -"

A spurt of ragged coughing and splutters tore their attention away from each other. Marcus was there, flopped like a dying fish against the bottom of the tunnel, in the process of removing a bucket's worth of liquid from his lungs.

"Marcus!" screamed Karliah, rushing forward and pulling him out. Marcus showed his gratitude by throwing up a cup of water into her face. She didn't care, and just focused on pulling him away from the water, and up onto drier ground.

"Thank the Gods," Brynjolf said. A relieved smile crossed his face. "You almost set a new record for the shortest amount of time spent as Guild Master."

"Go… **cough** … to Oblivion," Marcus retched at him. Karliah grabbed Marcus and hugged him close, only for him to roughly push her away. Karliah looked worried, fearing she'd done something wrong, only to see him rake in a few breaths of air.

"Sorry..." Marcus said, holding up a hand to her, "Let me… **gasp** … do some breathing first."

Karliah smiled, embarrassed, and gave the man some literal breathing space.

"Do you have the Key?" Brynjolf asked.

Marcus didn't reply, but instead held it up for them to see.

"Good," the older man nodded, "Let's get out of here."

"You'll… have to carry me," Marcus breathed, "My leg is fucked... and I'm in no shape to channel enough magicka to heal the damn thing."

Brnyjolf nodded, and unceremoniously slung Marcus over his shoulder, before following Karliah down the tunnel, hopefully to an exit. The pain in his leg from being jostled about on a larger man's shoulder soon faded from Marcus' mind, as he slowly sunk into unconsciousness.

* * *

Marcus turned the Skeleton Key over in his hands, examining the intricate craftsmanship. The blacksmith in him was intrigued, but he didn't want to hang onto it for study. Marcus knelt downwards and gently placed the Key into its slot in the ebonmere. It fit snugly.

A second later, the center of the room shifted, sliding upwards and moulding itself into a strange kind of altar-pool, filled with purple-black liquid. Marcus frowned, and tentatively peered into the pool, only for it to erupt with ravens and inky purple light. He staggered back, rather scared for a moment. Amidst the swirling black and purple colours, rose the figure of a robed woman. She floated a few feet above the altar, and regarded Marcus with a look of dull curiosity.

She was stunning to look at, in more ways than one. Her robes were black as night, and an aura of primeval power radiated from her. Several ravens perched on her shoulders. Aesthetically she was gorgeous, with her robes displaying a generous amount of cleavage and showing off her smooth, pale legs. Marcus instantly knew exactly who she was. Nocturnal.

Despite his dealings with the daedra in the past, he was yet to meet one face-to-face. It was a little unnerving, to say the least. But Marcus still remained confident.

"My, my my," Nocturnal said slowly, looking Marcus up and down. "What do we have here?"

Marcus didn't answer, feeling the question was rhetorical.

Nocturnal said, "It's been a number of years since I've stepped on your world. Or perhaps it's been moments. One tends to lose track…"

 _Of course,_ Marcus thought, _What reason would an immortal have to care about the passage of time?_

"Once again, the Key has been stolen and a 'Champion' returns it to the Sepulcher. Now that the ebonmere has been restored, you stand here before me, awaiting your accolades… a pat on your head? A kiss on your cheek?"

Marcus didn't say nothing. He just stood there, matching Nocturnal's gaze, and waiting to be addressed in a proper fashion.

"What you fail to realize," Nocturnal continued, "Is that your actions were expected, and represent nothing more than the fulfillment of your agreement."

Marcus' stone face broke, and he allowed himself a small smile at this.

"Don't mistake my tone for displeasure, after all, you've obediently obeyed your duties to the letter. But we both know this has little to do with oaths, and loyalty. It's about the reward. The prize."

Marcus' smile grew larger, growing into a smirk.

"Fear not, you'll have your trinkets, your desire for power, your hunger for wealth. I bid you to drink deeply from the ebonmere, for this is where the agent of nocturnal is born."

Marcus chuckled once, then continued to smile.

Nocturnal frowned at the noise, but composed herself again and kept talking. "The oath has been struck, the die has been cast, and your fate awaits you in the Evergloam."

Then Marcus started laughing. Not quiet chuckling, actual loud laughter. Nocturnal stopped her speech, and frowned with much chagrin at Marcus. Why was this a situation that deemed such frivolity?

"Pray tell, my Nightngale," Nocturnal said coldly, "Why do you find this so humorous?"

Marcus stopped laughing, and rubbed his eyes. "Where to start? What about the rampant assumptions about why I did this? What about the disinterested demeanor in which you describe your own Nightingales, despite the fact that you can't do anything without them? What about the fact that I'm never going to end up in your 'Evergloam'?

Nocturnal frowned deeply, briefly considering whether or not to smite this mortal. But he had piqued her curiosity.

She tilted her head, and furrowed her brow at Marcus. "Watch your tone, Mortal. I am not one you should seek to displease. I command your soul."

Marcus smiled at her, a shark-like grin that managed to unnerve Nocturnal, if only by a small amount. "You never bothered to look closely in Nightingale hall, did you? You just assumed I was like all those other countless mortals that you'd ensnared?"

"What do you speak of?"

Marcus reached up and pulled back his cowl, revealing his face. His bright hazel eyes burned as he stared up at Nocturnal. "Take a closer look, daedra," he said, "and tell me, is my soul the type that can be commanded by you?"

Nocturnal looked at Marcus for a moment, peering closer at him and narrowing her eyes. Then she started, looking genuinely surprised for a fraction of a second. Then her composure returned.

"You are a child of Akatosh..." she said slowly. "How very… intriguing."

"Yeah," Marcus said, crossing his arms. "My soul was sold before I was even born, technically. Akatosh has first preference, I'm afraid."

Nocturnal regarded Marcus coldly for a few seconds, before speaking. "It matters little. You may go elsewhere after death, but for now, you still made a deal with me and thus you still have your duty as a Nightingale."

"I know," Marcus said plainly. "And as you said, I have fulfilled that duty 'to the letter'. But do not mistake that for the only reason why I did this. Your sense of entitlement to my precious time matters little to me. I did this primarily for my friends, to ensure their future prosperity and the security of their livelihood. I did this to protect them, first and foremost."

"You would place other mortals over your duty to me? How very unwise..."

"I have never considered myself a wise man," Marcus said, "Nor have I ever considered myself a puppet of the daedra."

Nocturnal looked at Marcus for a while, measuring him and thinking. Eventually she said, "There are worse things to be loyal to. Very well. As long as you continue to perform your duty accordingly, I shall allow you your personal notion of independence."

Marcus grinned. "How very gracious of you, Nocturnal," he said sarcastically. "Because I was clearly asking for your permission."

Nocturnal paused, and almost smiled at Marcus. "It… has been a while since anyone has spoken to me like that. Longer still since that person was mortal. You will certainly bear closer… inspection, Marcus."

"As you see fit, lady of the night," Marcus half-bowed to her.

Nocturnal then began to sink back into the pool. Her parting words rang out just as she nearly disappeared. "Farewell, Nightingale. See to it that the Key stays this time, won't you?"

Marcus smiled at the pool of water, and pulled up his cowl once more.

"Yeah, no promises."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Do you guys want me to cover the battle with Alduin/the rest of the main story over the next few chapters, or do you want me to do some companion chapters with Borgahk and Jenassa?**

 **From this point onward, I have a fairly coherent idea of where that story's going until around chapter 45 or so. Not sure how long exactly it'll take me to write what I want. Hopefully it won't end up being too long. Not sure if you'll dislike me making it over 50 chapters. That might be excessive. I might have to start writing more succinctly. As is, this story is now over 200,000 words.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	29. Chapter 29

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 29 – A Dark Elf's Dark Past

"Blade and shadow, silence and death – these are my arts. For a modest fee, I'll make great art for you."

Marcus blinked for a moment, staring in confusion at the Dark Elf woman. His gaze had lingered on her for a second longer than one would consider normal, but only because she was so pretty. Now, it seemed that had warranted him a rather confusing sales pitch. Then the nature of her words clicked in his brain, and his face cracked as he began snorting helplessly with laughter. Jenassa looked back at him, indignant. "Wha-heheheh…" Marcus calmed himself down so he could talk. "What was that supposed to be?"

Jenassa's reply was low and firm, "It was an accurate description of my skills..."

Marcus smiled, "You're going to have to translate for me. What you said might as well have been in daedric."

Jenassa frowned, the creases on her brow ill-suiting her incredibly smooth skin. "If you must require an explanation, I use stealth, magic, and weapons to do my duty. I'm a master of all skills."

"Sounds a bit like me," Marcus said, "But I don't go around spouting boastful remarks in taverns about it. Not most of the time, anyway."

Jenassa smirked, "That's probably because I have a lot more reason to boast."

Marcus arched an eyebrow as far as it could go. "Really? I would find that incredibly hard to believe..."

Jenassa straightened herself and set her jaw. "Hire me. I'll prove it to you, I promise."

Marcus looked at her for a second, his smile lessened slightly. "You shouldn't make a promise if you don't know you can keep it."

"I can keep it."

Marcus looked at her up and down, seemingly measuring her worth. His gaze was unwavering, and Jenassa found herself staring back into those unusually fiery hazel eyes.

Eventually, Marcus shrugged. "We shall see."

He tossed a bag of coins onto the table in front of Jenassa. She immediately stood up, pocketed the coins, and stepped over to Marcus' side. Marcus looked her up and down, getting his first good sight of her now that she was no longer half-shrouded in the shadows.

She looked young, but for a dark elf that wasn't saying much. Most dark elves could live up to two hundred years, maybe longer. She was probably at least double Marcus' age. Her hair was two shades darker than her skin, hanging down past her shoulders. A pair of twinkling red eyes stared back at him, with a lighter brown tone of war paint around each eye.

Jenassa looked back at Marcus, sizing him up. He looked average, in most senses. Brown hair, plain skin, not too tall, not too short. Well-muscled, but most nords in Skyrim were. He had an average face, apart from his eyes, which seemed to hide a burning firelight behind them, and two faint scars near his eye and on his cheek.

But Jenassa's magical skill told her something else. The guy seemed to have a certain… aura. As if the air touching his skin was a few degrees warmer than everywhere else.

Jenassa shook her head to clear it, blinking a few times and mentally dragging her out of her reflection. She stood up straighter and looked at Marcus. "I am Jenassa. What is the name of my charge, to which I shall be proving myself?"

"Marcus."

Jenassa blinked. "The… 'The' Marcus?"

He smiled slyly at her. "Yeah. Having second thoughts about that promise yet?"

Jenassa shifted her gaze downward. Her pride prevented her from admitting anything, but if she was alone, she would've kicked herself.

* * *

Marcus dropped to his knees and did a short powerslide underneath a wide sweeping blow from the orc's Battleaxe, before promptly hacking at his left leg, bringing the bandit chief down onto his knees. Marcus got back onto his feet, and swiftly turned around and blasted the orc in the back of the head with a powerful lightning bolt. It exploded into a gruesome charred mess.

Marcus looked around the building for Jenassa, frowning as he couldn't immediately see her. Then he heard a brief scream of fear, before a bandit came flying through the air and slammed into the wooden wall next to him, a large black circle in the centre of his chest.

He frowned, and turned to see Jenassa walk out of the room the bandit had come from

Marcus crossed his arms, "You ought to be more careful, that bandit almost hit me.

"Did it?" Jenassa's reply was short.

"No..."

"Then don't complain."

Marcus huffed, "You're just jealous of how much a better fighter I am than you."

Jenassa shrugged grudgingly, "Yeah well… I'd want to hope so. You're our 'only' hope, or so they say."

Marcus nodded slowly, "Yeah… 'they' tend to say that a lot."

Marcus walked over to the shack that served as the Bandit chief's personal quarters. He had a brief look around for anything useful, and after grabbing a few choice valuables, saw a note. He walked over to the small desk, and examined it. It seemed to be a letter.

Jenassa walked over. "What's that say?"

Marcus read a few lines, and frowned. He read the next few, and frowned deeper. "These bandits were in the slave trading business. They recently sold a pair of young women to a group of pirates down near the shoreline." Marcus gestured to the ocean, the sea of Ghosts, which could be seen down the hill about a kilometer or so away.

"Good thing we stopped them, then." Jenassa mused.

Marcus was quiet, he stared at the letter for a few moments. His expression became sad. "It… they sold them yesterday. I… Do you know what I did yesterday?"

Jenassa tilted her head inquisitvely. "That's when you met me..."

"After I had screwed around in the town doing menial things for most of the day." Marcus' face became bleak. "I should've just come straight here."

"Would you even have decided to come here if I hadn't been along?"

Marcus didn't answer straight away. He'd come here to kill the bandits and let Jenassa know who she was dealing with, while simultaneously teaching her that lesson about promises. Would he have decided to clear out the bandits if she wasn't in tow?

"I don't know," Marcus shrugged sadly, "Maybe." He read the rest of the letter, and his face slowly shifted back to a neutral look. "It says that the pirates will be hanging around the sea of ghosts for a while… that gives me an idea..."

Jenassa frowned slightly. "You know, the way you say that worries me."

"The pirates wanted to stick around incase this lot of bandits got any more 'merchandise', so they'll attempt to raid a merchant ship or two before heading back to the 'Calderon' to meet up with the others." Marcus looked at the bottom of the letter. "So… I think this is probably a larger operation than just one group of pirates... it says here, that the pirates will put in a good word for these bandits with the 'Jorge Brothers' back at the Calderon."

"What?!" Jenassa cried, storming over and snatching the letter from Marcus. She quickly scanned it, her face shifting to one of shock as she read the footnote.

"What is it?" Marcus asked, curiosity and wariness mixed on his face. "You know these people?"

Jenassa dropped the letter, her face a blend of emotions, and walked a little way away. She looked stunned, which was an unusual break in character for the normally stoic mercenary. Marcus tilted his head, frowning at her. She just stood there, her back to him, breathing heavily. She didn't seem to be breaking out of it.

He walked over to her, and grabbed her shoulder, shaking her lightly. "Hey, Hey!" he called out to her. "Jenassa, come on, focus." He clicked his fingers in front of her face. She blinked twice, and stared at him.

"I… I use to know them."

Marcus said, "What, you knew these Jorge Brothers?"

She nodded slowly, "We used to be part of a… guild of sorts, petty theft around docks near Hammerfell. A close-knit group. We'd grown up on the streets together, most of us. We were family, once upon a time..."

"You used to be a thief?" Marcus raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms.

"It was a long time ago," Jenassa said, raising a hand up to Marcus, "I'm not that kind of person anymore, and I haven't been for a long time. I gave it up, ok?"

Marcus shrugged, "I'm not exactly one to judge, though I have no doubt my form of thievery differed greatly from yours, if your 'guild mates' are operating a mass slavery and pirating ring."

"I thought they died..." Jenassa said slowly. "There was a huge storm one night, it flooded most of the sewer that we used as a hideout, I thought everyone died."

"You didn't check?"

Jenassa shrugged guiltily, "I… The others started getting more… fanatic about it. They didn't care about making enough to live off, they wanted the entire world on a platter, you know? They started intimidating regular people, beatings… even the occasional murder to keep the city on its toes. I started looking for a way out. When the storm hit, I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I cut my losses, thanked Azura, and got out of Hammerfell fast."

"Hmmm..." Marcus picked up the letter again, and gave it another quick scan. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and glanced sideways at Jenassa. She walked over and sat in a chair, next to the corpse Marcus had exploded. The revelation was still only just sinking in.

"How much do you remember about those brothers?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jenassa rubbed her forehead, "Not much… they were tough, very skilled at fighting. You never saw them apart either, they were inseparable. They acted as the sort of 'intimidation muscle' for our little group. Hard to believe they've become leaders."

"How long ago was all this?"

"25 years, give or take."

Marcus nodded, and chewed his lip. He walked up to Jenassa, and patted her on the shoulder. "Take as long as you need." Then he continued walking, heading past her and moving out of the building into the open. He found himself a nice rock, and sat there, patiently waiting for Jenassa to mentally pull herself together.

About 10 minutes later Jenassa emerged from the bandit's building. She no longer looked as stunned, but instead her face showed hints of worry. Fear, almost. Marcus wasn't sure if he should pry as to why.

"What next?" Jenassa asked shortly as she got close to Marcus.

Marcus looked out to the wintery ocean in the distance. "Well… I'm planning on going to Windhelm just down the road, and speaking to a few acquaintances down at the docks, to see if I can't convince a merchant ship to temporarily become 'bait' for those pirates."

"You're going to go out to sea and stop them?"

Marcus nodded curtly. "Yes. I've never been to Hammerfell, but I'd assume Calderas are pretty common, so hopefully I'll also be able to convince those pirates to give up the location."

Jenassa blinked a few times, "You're going to go out to sea, bait in a pirate ship, fight everyone on it, and then attack a heavily fortified pirate stronghold?"

"Yes."

"Azura..." Jenassa breathed, "Why the hell did I have to get hired by you?"

Marcus smiled. _She sounds like Marcurio…_ He slipped down off the rock and walked up to her. "If you don't want to tag along, I won't blame you. I wouldn't want to, especially not if it meant fighting what were my close friends."

Jenassa said quickly, "They weren't my friends… they were just, associates, you know? Plus, I've turned over a new leaf. They don't mean anything to me anymore."

"Hmm..." Marcus didn't look convinced. "Well… If you say so. So you're coming along?"

She nodded, "Yes. In any event, our contract is probably still good for a few more days at least."

"Ok," Marcus smiled, "Let's go. Windhelm isn't far."

* * *

Marcus sat at the front of the ship, near the rowing tables, flicking through the pages of a book. The cold sea breeze rustled his brown hair, and blew the loose fabrics on his armour about. Across the ship, from the helm, Jenassa watched him. The captain was giving her a long story about his own previous engagements with pirates, and how skilled a helmsman he was, and how the young girl didn't have anything to fear with himself as the captain. Jenassa blocked most of it out. She just watched Marcus from a distance, silently weighing him up in her mind.

He didn't look like a killer. He didn't look like a Dragonborn. She… she wasn't sure what he looked like.

"The wind is strong today," the captain said, "Of course, I've handled far worse before. There was this one time -" The captain turned to face Jenassa, only to see that she'd left. His attractive audience was now walking across the deck of the ship, toward the lone figure at the bow.

Jenassa approached Marcus slowly. She asked him, "What are you reading?"

Marcus half-smiled. "Reading is a strong word. I think, 'attempting to analyze' is closer to the mark."

"Alright," Jenassa folded her arms, "What are you attempting to analyze?"

Marcus explained, "It's a half-translated copy of a book I found in a dwemer city. I took it to the College, and the librarian managed to translate a good portion of it, and copy across the diagrams."

"What's it about?"

"It's kinda patchy, but from what I can gather, it's notes, detailing a dwemer smith's attempts to merge two sets of armor. A chitinous set of light armor, probably similar to what many Dark elves wear in Morrowind, and a heavy chainmail, made out of ebony."

Jenassa frowned, "I wasn't aware you could make chainmail out of ebony."

"Neither was I," Marcus shrugged, "But the instructions are right here, more or less."

"Are you going to attempt to make it? This… blend of armors that the smith tried to do?"

Marcus laughed, "Goodness no! Or at least, not at the moment. Urag only translated half the book, and while I can decipher another quarter based on the context, the rest is ineligible. As is, I don't think the dwarf ever actually managed to achieve it. Something about the chitin he used being to brittle and constantly cracking."

They lapsed into silence. Jenassa thought slowly about how to broach the topic of what she'd been thinking up at the helm, curious as to what Marcus thought about his own situation. She never got the chance, as a sailor nearby called out to everyone within earshot.

"Look! Sail ahead!"

Both Marcus and Jenassa looked up, and saw another ship in the distance, heading towards their own.

Jenassa said, "Do you think that's the pirates?"

Marcus replied, "More than likely. Their heading is pointed straight at us." He turned back to face the sailors and the soldiers that had come with him. They were moving about, following the orders of an older East Empire Soldier. Marcus nodded in satisfaction at the sight of the soldiers hunkering down in the rowing tables, with the sailors going about their normal business.

"They certainly know what to do." Jenassa remarked.

Marcus smiled, "They've done this before. Or at least, they've done similar things before."

"Oh?"

Marcus nodded, "About two months ago I helped them take care of a similar issue. Killed a wizard leading a particularly vicious band of pirates."

Jenassa raised her eyebrows, "You've led an interesting life."

"That's one way of putting it."

Marcus and Jenassa crouched down in the rowing tables, pressed up against the wood. The sailors went around, acting normally, and gradually pretending to be more panicked as the ship got closer. When Marcus could see the mast of the other ship poking into the sky from his low position, he knew the pirates were close enough. That, and the fact they were shouting random obscenities and war cries at the merchant ship, thinking they'd found some easy prey. Marcus closed his eyes, and took several quick breaths, nodding slowly to himself. Then he opened his eyes, and focused.

He leapt up, and sprinted at the wooden railing of the ship. He jumped up and used it as a semi-effective springboard to leap over the edge. The pirate ship was a few metres away, many of the pirates ready with grappling hooks to stop what they thought was a merchant ship from escaping. Marcus jumped over the short gap between the two ships, and landed on the deck covered in pirates.

There was a momentary silence, as the pirates stared in mild shock and confusion at the lone man who had leapt over the edge and boarded their ship. They thought **they** were supposed to be boarding. The grinding sound of wood on wood broke the silence as the two ships rubbed against each other. A second later, a cry came from the throats of a dozen soldiers, as they swarmed over the edge onto the deck of the pirate ship. This broke the ice instantly, and the pirates drew their weapons and charged at the unexpected enemies.

Marcus took the time to summon a frost atronach with his left hand, before drawing his sword and meeting the pirates in battle, Jenassa and the others a few metres behind him.

Marcus ducked underneath a swing from a pirate, and slashed at the back of the guy's right leg as he continued to move forward. Another pirate thrust at him with a sword from the front, so Marcus twisted his left wrist so that the armored bracer deflected most of the blade, and buried his sword into the man's gut. It cost him a deep scratch on his wrist-guard, but nothing else. Marcus didn't want to get bogged down fighting any of the underlings, he wanted to find and neutralize the captain before anyone else accidentally killed him.

Marcus fought his way to the helm, focusing mainly on severely wounding pirates instead of killing them, since it was quicker. The captain was a tall man, wearing a face-wrap. By the colour of his arms, he looked like a redguard, with one of their trademark curved scimitars. He stared at Marcus with a hateful glint in his eyes. Marcus looked back blankly.

Marcus asked, "I don't suppose you'll surrender right now?"

The captain responded with a shout of anger before leaping at Marcus with an overhead strike, attempting to cut him in half. Marcus dodged to the right, only to learn that the overhead strike was a feint. The redguard moved his scimitar about with surprising speed, and slashed at Marcus' right wrist. The curved blade was deflected slightly by the wrist-guard of Marcus' armor, and instead cut deep into the flesh on Marcus' hand, severing a tendon or two. Marcus' sword fell from his grip, his fingers hanging uselessly. The captain gave a short bark of self-assured laughter, and aimed a thrust for Marcus' midsection.

Marcus reached down to his right side with his left hand and brought his dagger out of its sheath, to quickly deflect the thrust sideways, before taking a deep breath and shouting.

"Zun!"

The blue energy rushed from Marcus' mouth and hit the sword in the captain's hand. The blade didn't fly from his grasp, but it pushed the weapon backwards with significant force so that the man's hand was now outstretched away from Marcus. Not the effect Marcus had been hoping, but good enough.

He took a quick step forward and slammed the hilt of his dagger into the side of the redguard's head. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the captain fell down in front of Marcus, unconscious.

The battle was over quickly. The pirates hadn't been expecting any resistance, but they instead met 12 soldiers, a highly skilled spellsword mercenary, and whatever Marcus classified as. There was only around 15 pirates to begin with. Once the brief skirmish was over, most of the pirates were dead or dying, and some had surrendered, throwing down their weapons.

Marcus looked around, assessing the deck of the ship and not seeing any further resistance. He looked down at his right hand, which was dripping blood rather profusely. It hurt, a lot.

He gritted his teeth, and pulled out the one of the two healing potions he'd backed for the trip, and gulped it down, before channeling a concentrated burst of restoration magic into his hand in addition. The two sources of healing magic closed up the wound, and returned the feeling to his hand. Ideally, he'd like to only heal if halfway, and let the rest of it heal naturally, but he doubted he'd have the week or so that'd take.

Jenassa walked up onto the helm and nodded at him. "Are you ok?"

Marcus nodded, "Yeah. I am now."

Jenassa half-smiled at him. "You know, next time maybe you shouldn't charge off into the thick of them like that. It's hard to protect you when you do things like that."

Marcus chuckled. "You sound like one of my housecarls. It's ok. I can handle a few pirates."

"I know you can handle a few. I'm worried about you trying to handle all of them."

Marcus waved a hand disinterestedly near his head, before kneeling down and examining the unconscious pirate. "Yeah well, I'm alive and the battle is won. If it looks stupid and it works, it's not stupid. Not entirely anyway."

Marcus reached down and pulled off the redguard's face-wrap. He was an older man, maybe mid-forties, with a spider-web style burn scar across the left side of his face. Behind him, Marcus heard Jenassa breath in sharply. He looked up at her, seeing unpleasant recollection on her face.

"Another member of this guild?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, before composing herself. "Jarik. He was our lockpicking expert."

"Hmmm," Marcus nodded, "I noticed he was quick with his hands..." he absent-mindedly rubbed where the scimitar had cut him on his own hand.

Adelaisa Vendicci walked up to the helm, breathing heavily, and nodded at the unconscious captain.

"This the one you'll be asking about the rest of them?"

"Yeah," Marcus nodded, as two soldiers came over and restrained the captain, then transported him over to their ship.

Marcus turned to Adelaisa. "There should be two young women down in the hold, get some of your men to bring them up. Windhelm isn't far, we should drop them off before we go hunting for the stronghold."

The East Empire captain nodded, and walked off to carry out the necessary orders.

"You're serious about taking down that group of pirates, aren't you?" Jenassa's face showed hints of concern.

Marcus shrugged. "I'm not a fan of pirates, and I'm really not a fan of slavers. They're going to have to be taken out sooner or later, and sooner is probably better before they gain more of a presence. I'm doubting their 'stronghold' is that impressive really, probably just a small cluster of buildings and a natural port."

"Hmm..."

Marcus moved down, and went back aboard their own ship. As if nothing had happened, he walked back up to his spot at the bow of the ship, picked up his book, and started reading it once more.

* * *

Marcus leaned against a door, Jenassa stood behind him, a little way away. "Any luck so far?"

Adelaisa shook her head tiredly. "The only time he ever speaks up is to insult you. We've tried threats, bargains, bribery, nothing's working."

Marcus frowned. "Wouldn't have thought a pirate would be that tough to crack. He knows he's facing execution, right?"

Adelasia nodded, and shrugged before sighing. "Anyway, head on in, if you want. You can't do any worse than we did."

The captain walked off, leaving Marcus and Jenassa alone outside the door to the 'interrogation room' at the East Empire building in Windhelm.

"He isn't going to talk," Jenassa said quietly. "Not under conventional means anyway. Back in the day, we stuck together through thick and thin. When one of us got caught by the guard, we never told them a thing."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like you were closer than a regular guild."

Jenassa sighed, leaning against a wooden wall. "We were the only family we had. You had to look after them, because they were the only ones who'd look after you."

Marcus chewed his lip, weighing a few things up in his mind. "I have an idea. I know a shout that might work, in an unorthodox way."

Jenassa asked quietly, "Will you need me?"

Marcus eyed her up and down. "I… I get the impression you'd rather not participate in this? Are you sure you're not still emotionally invested with these people?"

"N-No. It was decades ago." Jenassa said defensively.

Marcus rubbed his chin, the faintest hint of a frown touching his brow. "Very well. Prove it. Come in with me. Talk to him."

Jenassa looked down at the ground beside her, before nodding slowly. "Sure."

Marcus entered the room, Jenassa close behind. Jarik looked up from the table he tied to as soon as he heard the door move. His face went from anger at seeing Marcus again, to shock on seeing Jenassa.

"Jen..." he said, a thick accent clouding his voice, "You're alive… you haven't aged a day."

"Jarik," she said firmly. "As ugly as ever."

He grinned, before nodding in the direction of Marcus. "What are you doing here, with these vassals of the Empire?"

Marcus chuckled, "I'm nobody's vassal, pirate."

Jarik ignored Marcus, and continued to fix his gaze on Jenassa. His eyes moved erratically, alluding to the thought processes behind them. He looked at Jenassa's armor, her stance, then at Marcus. Then he chewed his lip and scrunched his burned face up, pulling together some more thoughts. Then Jarik reached a conclusion, and his face turned angry.

"You bitch," he spat, eyes turning angry. Marcus twitched slightly on hearing the insult. "You turned your back on us, didn't you? We thought you died in that storm, and now you're here, as some… 'mercenary' working to end us?"

"I've made my own life," Jenassa said firmly, "One that no longer deals with the wrong side of morality."

"Fucking harlot," Jarik said angrily, "You turned your back on us, and now you're here, helping the rich assholes pick us off? I hope you burn in Oblivion."

Marcus folded his arms, knuckles turning slightly white as he heard Jarik speak to Jenassa. The young dark elf didn't say anything, attempting to pull together an adequete response in her head. She looked perturbed.

Jarik continued in a venomous tone. "We took you in, we gave you a home. We became the family you needed. And this is the thanks we get?"

"You changed!" Jenassa said suddenly, louder than she'd expected, "You all did! It stopped being about survival, and more about greed. We never stopped to think if a begging mother needed those coins to feed her children, we just took what we wanted. That's why I left!"

Marcus, feeling that it was time to intervene, and that time was wasting, stepped in between the two people. He faced Jenassa, and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Settle down," he said softly, forcing the agitated woman to calm down. "How about you take a breather outside?"

Jenassa went to say something, but stopped herself, and nodded at the floor. She turned on her heel and walked out the door.

Marcus turned back to face Jarik. "You shouldn't insult a lady like that."

"Fuck you." Jarik said back, staring defiantly at Marcus.

The younger man sighed, and closed his eyes. This was taking too long. Marcus took a deep breath, and said two words loudly.

"Faas, Ru!"

Then Jarik began to scream.

* * *

Marcus left the room 10 minutes later, with everything he'd need to know. He couldn't see Jenassa anywhere in the building, so he figured she must have gone outside onto the dock. As he moved out the door, he spotted her a little way away, sitting down on the edge, looking out over the ocean.

Marcus thought hard for a moment, slowing considering something. Then he sighed, and walked over to her. She didn't look up as he approached, and continued to look out over the snowy ocean. Marcus sat down next to her, legs hanging over the edge a few metres above the murky seawater. Neither said anything for a few seconds, then Jenassa took a deep breath.

"I… I acted unprofessionally," she began hesitantly. "I shouldn't have reacted so emotionally. I'm sorry."

Marcus tapped his feet against the stone underneath him, drawing together his thoughts. "I don't think you should apologize. Everyone has a past, and I'd be somewhat surprised if you weren't emotionally attached to it, in some way."

"I..." Jenassa sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her dark hair blew about around her face, so Marcus couldn't exactly see her expression. "They were bad people. I know it, you know it. Even they know it. I shouldn't care what they think, I shouldn't even want to see them again... Why do I feel so guilty?"

"Are you asking me, or do you already know the answer?"

Jenassa said nothing.

Marcus took a deep breath, and chewed his lip. He looked up at the bleary white-grey sky, perpetually full of snow. "Family..." he began slowly, only half-sure of what he wanted to say, "...Family is a strange thing. We don't choose it, and we never get to control how it turns out, as much as we might like to. It's a bit of a damned thing, really, since by its nature we're very much connected to it." Marcus picked up a bit of snow beside him and absent-mindedly threw it into the ocean. "I don't think there's any weakness in admitting you care about the people that cared for you. I also won't pretend like it's an easy thing to turn against them. But at the same time, we both know what should be done."

Marcus turned and looked away from Jenassa, sideways to the boat that had brought them in. It was in the process of being loaded back up with whatever provisions they'd need for the journey. There was also a few more soldiers around the place too.

Jenassa turned and looked at Marcus, fixing her dark red eyes on him as he tried to find the words to make her feel better.

Marcus said, "I guess I'm just trying to say that… I understand what you're going through, and that you shouldn't be ashamed of it, regardless of that stoic mercenary attitude you embody. We all have our demons, and no-one is pretending like dealing with them is going to be an easy feat. However, I know you're a good person, and I know you're strong enough to face it. That said, if you want to stay here at the dock, or head back to Whiterun, I won't think any less of you."

Marcus turned back to face Jenassa, to see her staring him full in the eyes. Her expression was… unusual. Marcus didn't know what to make of it. She looked at him for a few moments, then her features softened. She reached forward and gave him a quick hug, before withdrawing and standing up.

"I don't think you should be fighting this alone," she said in a steady voice, "I ought to help you end this, for both our sakes."

Then she turned and headed back to the ship, probably to help get the preparations underway. Marcus watched her go, then looked down at his hands. He noticed the deep scratch on his bracer, and realized he should probably go fix it, while he had the chance. Marcus didn't consider himself that great when it came to dealing with emotions, so he'd welcome an opportunity to do a simple task he knew how to do.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: After this little arc, I'm going to focus on the main story and get it finished. It'll probably take 4 more chapters, including the next one, since I won't be skipping anything. For a visual reference of what the Jenassa I've tried to make looks like, have a look at the SBF mod version of her. It looks nice, in my opinion.**

 **Writers block hit me bad with this chapter. I haven't proof-read it that much, cause I wanted to get it out asap. Sorry about that. Don't worry about me ditching this story, I won't ever do that until I'm completely finished, which will probably be at around 400,000 words, at this rate…**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	30. Chapter 30

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 30 – The Caldera of Carnage

Marcus sat below deck, fiddling with his dagger at a small table. The ship was larger than the last one, with a few more soldiers, as once Marcus had told the East Empire officials about what Jarik had told him, they'd believed the pirates to be a greater threat. Marcus wasn't sure if the extra precaution was necessary, but it was certainly nice.

Marcus had taken his dagger out to sharpen it, just because he was looking for something to do, but after a while he'd resorted to simply carving various poorly drawn shapes into the wood on the table. He didn't consider himself an artist, but he reckoned he'd managed to create a pretty decent dragon. The body looked a little fat, but he didn't know many people apart from himself who'd actually seen a Dragon up close and survived, so he doubted anyone would criticize the depiction.

Marcus was anxious, for lack of a better word. He'd been in enough fights to maintain his cool in strenuous situations, but it was the anticipation, the lead-up to the fight, that he found the worst. The waiting, the planning, the confusion, the uncertainty. For someone who already inherently second-guessed themselves a lot, it really wasn't enjoyable.

Marcus then heard the sound of footsteps on wood, and saw a pair of feet slowly move down the stairs into the small common room he sat in. Jenassa appeared, and looked as if she had something on her mind. She walked over, and was about to say something when she saw the state of the table Marcus was sitting at.

She asked, "Any particular reason you've decided to carve a drawing of a seagull into a table?"

Marcus frowned, and looked down at his carving. "It's not a seagull..."

Jenassa shrugged, "Well, it looks like one."

Marcus pouted, and crossed his arms, "Did you come down here for any other reason than to depreciate my artistic expressions?"

Jenassa smiled, "You'd consider that an artistic expression?"

Marcus shot her a look. She sighed, and held her hands up, nodding in understanding. "I'm just messing. That Imperial captain up there said that we were about two hours away."

Marcus nodded, and breathed out. "Ok. Good. I'm getting sick of waiting around."

"Not a fan of the wait before a battle?"

"No," Marcus shook his head, standing up away from the table and fetching his sword leaning against the wall nearby. "I… I wouldn't really consider myself an expert fighter, but I find the chaos of battle a bit more easy to manage than the anxiousness of waiting beforehand."

Jenassa raised an eyebrow. She understood the second half of that sentence, but if Marcus couldn't be considered an expert fighter, she didn't know who could. She had about 2 decades of experience over him, and yet he was easily more competent. In both magic and weapons.

Marcus strapped his sword to his belt, and looked up at Jenassa. "Are you sure you'll be ok to do this? Odds are, there might be more of your former guild mates on the island."

Jenassa nodded, "I should be ok. It might cause a moment's hesitation, but nothing more. Besides, you'll need all the help you can get."

"Hmm," Marcus scratched his cheek. "As much as I'd like the extra blade and magic backing me up, I wouldn't want to put you in a situation you don't want to be in. Don't feel as it anyone's forcing you into this. That'd be the last thing I'd want."

"Are you sure you'd be able to handle this on your own? With nothing but a few soldiers backing you up?"

"I think so. I've probably been through worse situations."

Jenassa looked down at the wooden floor. Marcus walked past her and rubbed her shoulder encouragingly. Then he continued forward and headed up the stairs.

* * *

The Caldera come into view about an hour and 10 minutes later. It was most likely the sunken remains of an old volcano, having sunken partly into the ocean. It followed a basic 'C' shape, with one long curved landmass, flanked by tall ridges and only really accessible from the natural port it created, inside the 'C' shape. There was a beach along the inside, and a few wooden structures for a ship or two to anchor next to. Behind the dock, was a selection of wooden shacks and houses, probably a tavern or two and some quarters. Above it all, placed higher towards the back of the Caldera, was a larger, more extravagant house. Most likely the residence of those Jorge Brothers, who were the leaders of this merry band.

Marcus stood at the front of the ship, watching the island slowly grow bigger. More and more details began to emerge. There seemed to be quite a few bodies moving around. He wondered how many combatants would be amongst them.

A few minutes later, Adelaisa Vendicci called him from the up at the helm. She was looking through a spyglass at the approaching Caldera. "Marcus! You're going to want to see this!"

Marcus jogged up to her, and took the spyglass from her hands. He looked through and his heart started beating a token faster. The pirates were amassing on the docks and the beach, running about with bows and preparing what seemed to be fire arrows. There were even a few mages amongst the group. There had to be at least 20.

"There's more than we planned," the captain said sternly, "And they know we're coming, too."

Marcus cursed. _Why did they have to insist on flying the East Empire flag?_ He scolded himself for allowing them to do it. They'd essentially just given away their element of surprise.

Vendicci asked, "What do we do? Are we still going ahead with this? They'll probably be able to get most of our crew before he even land. Maybe burn the sails too. We'll be sitting ducks."

Marcus put the spyglass down and started pacing. He'd really wished he'd realized the fact that the pirates would probably be able to see them coming, and prepare. He'd sold himself on the weaker stronghold concept that he'd faced in the past.

Marcus turned away and looked at the sea. He chewed his lip, and kept running a hand through his hair.

"What are we going to do?" Vendicci asked again, a bit more anxious this time, a slight break in the stony Imperial soldier's visage. "Marcus?"

"I'm thinking!" Marcus burst out. Then he calmed himself, and held up an apologetic hand. "Sorry. I'm thinking, ok? Just… keep moving forward, give me a minute."

Marcus raised the spyglass once more and analyzed the beach. The pirates had all grabbed bows, and formed up on the docks and a few on the beach. There was also two mages, with what looked like fire in their hands. There was around 20 pirates in total. Less than optimal. Depending on the skill level of each archer, they'd be able to hit the boat from around 200 metres away, since it was a large target moving directly toward them. The mages were another question. Depending on their skill level, they might be able to blast the boat out of the water or set it alight at the same distance. The sails would probably burn up quickly, with the arrows tearing holes in them. Then the fire arrows would start hitting the ship, and it would start burning. Without sails propelling it forward, the ship was defenseless. It had rowing oars down below deck, with holes sticking out the side of the ship, but it'd be slow going.

Marcus looked up at the sails. The wind wasn't directly behind them, so they weren't at full sail. If they were to go full sail, it'd probably do them more harm than good due to the wind's direction, and they wouldn't reach the beach as fast. The rowers would probably be the best option, but they needed protection from the fire arrows and the mages.

Marcus closed his eyes, and did some quick thinking. Then he opened his eyes and turned to Adelaisa. "Tell your men to drop all the sails. Every single one, I don't care about the wind. I want as much fabric above us as possible."

"What? But that will slow us down!"

"Let me worry about that," Marcus said, "I'll fix the wind. Once the sails are down, get everyone downstairs and tell the rowers to start rowing like they've never rowed before."

"This… this doesn't make sense!" Adelaisa's older face creased with confusion and worry. "What about those mages? They'll be able to hit the boat as least as far away as the archers! The sails might stop the arrows, from burning up the majority of the ship, but only for a time!"

"I know!" Marcus said firmly. "Look, let me worry about the incoming fire. Just trust me, and do as I say. Focus on getting the men in line and getting this ship to the shore as fast as possible."

She looked at him for a moment, face conflicted, then she nodded, and turned around to start shouting orders and carry out the tasks he'd detailed. Marcus nodded in relief, the turned and ran down to the front of the ship. He nearly bumped into Jenassa who'd come upstairs in the commotion.

She said, "Marcus, what's going on?"

"Not much time to explain," he said quickly, "Get below decks, don't come out until the ship stops moving. They're going to fire a lot of things at us, it seems. Things are going to get… chaotic."

Then he brushed past her and moved to the front of the ship. Jenassa didn't know what Marcus' plan was, but she wasn't about to cower downstairs. She instead moved up and headed to the helm, ready to perhaps shield the captain if need be.

Marcus got the front of the ship, and looked behind him. The sailors were about to drop the full sails. He turned back to face the area in front, and took a deep breath.

"Lok… Vah Koor!"

The white Thu'um burst out into the air in front of the ship, rushing skyward. An instant later, the wind completely died. The ship slowed briefly, before the rowers got into their tables and started moving the ship forward again.

Marcus looked at the Caldera. It was much closer now. Probably around 500 metres away. 300 metres until they'd start firing. 200 for the mages, most likely.

Marcus breathed in deep, and slowly stepped onto the railing at the front of the ship. He grabbed a hold of a rope, and slowly walked onto the bowsprit. He weaved around the various ropes attached to it, carefully placing his feet on the single large log of wood, until he was almost at the very foremost part of the ship. He crouched down, watching the ocean rush past underneath him. Marcus took another deep breath, and looked up. The archers had arrows nocked, flames already burning on the oiled fabric around the broadhead. The mages had just started to charge up fire spells. It was somewhat hard to see at this distance, but it looked like it'd be the typical 'fireball' spells. On a ship like this, even a few direct hits would be very detrimental.

Marcus crouched down, one foot forward, and one foot behind him. He concentrated hard and channeled as much magicka as he could into his hands, causing a soft white glow to build up in each palm. As the two pirate mages launched their fireballs, Marcus splayed his hands open and poured magicka into the ward spell, overcharging it to the greatest extent he could with both hands.

The ward blossomed outwards, forming an oval 3 metres wide and 4 metres tall. From the front, it protected the majority of the ship's bow. The two fireballs collided with the ward, and Marcus felt himself get pushed back a few centimetres. The ward shrunk a little, then grew back to his original size.

 _Tolfdir would be proud…_ Marcus thought to himself, allowing a brief smile.

Another two fireballs hit the ward spell, but they had the same ineffectiveness of the first two. Marcus felt a small amount of satisfaction that the first stage of his plan had worked, but he knew he couldn't keep this up forever. Maintaining the size of the ward was chewing through his magicka quickly.

He heard the hard 'thunk' noises of the first volley of arrows hitting the sails and mast. Marcus craned his head behind him and saw that the sails had eaten up almost the entirety of that first volley. Given the nature of the ships distance from the shore, it made sense that the archers would be aiming for an arcing shot, and thus his plan with the sails had worked. The rest of the ship was fine for now. The sails were screwed, and in the process of catching fire, but they wouldn't need them anymore.

Another two fireballs hit Marcus' ward. This time, it shrunk but didn't grow back to full size again. Marcus knew he didn't have much more time. Peering through the glowing magic, he saw the archers fire off another volley. A few seconds later, the sails took the full brunt of barrage. This time, a few arrows burst through the gradually widening holes in the fabric and hit the wood of the deck. Thankfully, hardly anyone was on the deck so there weren't any casualties. Such a small amount of arrows wouldn't cause a large fire.

Marcus looked back forward, in time to see another two fireballs hit his ward and shrink it. He started to get the traces of a magicka drain headache. He needed more time. They were still around 150 metres from the shore.

Marcus gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes, forcing every ounce of his concentration to focus on the ward. He hoped none of the arrows making it through the sails would cause a large fire. Aiming at the sides of the ship would be useless with the salt spray, but the sun-dried deck would burn fast, if a fire caught hold.

Another fireball hit the ward. The second one slipped past the shrunken ward and hit the bow of the ship. A few burning pieces of wood flew past Marcus' face. He bit his lip in frustration, and cancelled the spell. It wouldn't do much good anymore. It was too small.

Gauging the distance to the shore, Marcus saw about 100 metres left. He looked at the sails, burning with large holes in them. The shields he'd constructed weren't going to hold anymore. He turned back to face the dock, and spent the last bit of magicka he had left firing a large thunderbolt at one of the pirate mages. The bolt hit the man in the chest, and blasted a charred black hole the size of a dinner plate in the man's chest.

Marcus looked back at the ship, then at the dock again. He slowly rose from his crouch to full height, and took another deep breath. This was turning out to be a really unpleasant day. He carefully walked forward the last metre to the end of the bowsprit, and just as the mages and archers were about to fire again, he shouted.

"Wuld… Nah Kest!"

The Thu'um propelled Marcus forward, carrying him across the last 70-odd metres to the dock. The effects ended just as Marcus was directly above the group. The end of the bowsprit seemed to be a little higher than the dock.

With a roar to match that of a Dragon, Marcus descended down upon the clustered archers. Planted both his sword and dagger into the body of one man, bringing both of them crashing down. Marcus was on his feet in a second, and began to cut through the ranks of the archers with easy. None of them had a close quarters weapon equipped, and none of them had been expecting such an attack. Marcus killed about 5 men before the others had managed to draw the daggers or swords they were carrying.

It then became a tougher fight, with Marcus surrounded on all sides by enemies. A few pirates managed to get some careful hits in, cutting Marcus' legs, shoulders, and bits of his lower, less protected torso. But their line had been broken for long enough, and he only had to hold on for a few more seconds.

With a crunch, the East Empire ship crashed into the dock, sending bits of wood into the air, and distracting the remaining pirates, and causing a widespread falter that spiraled into a full-on rout.

"Fall back!" One of them shouted, and the rest heeded the advice, disengaging with Marcus and running off the dock toward the houses, ready to rouse the rest of their comrades.

Marcus watched them go, a little blood dripping from various minor cuts on his body. He crouched down, and leaned on his sword, panting slightly. A second later, Jenassa was at his side, pulling him up and checking him all over to see how badly he was hurt.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, gently pushing her away, "Or at least, I will be."

He reached into a pouch, and pulled out a magicka potion. Gulping it down, Marcus felt slightly rejuvenated, and managed to channel some healing magic through himself to close up his wounds. Then he breathed out deeply, closing his eyes and allowing himself a moment of respite to regain his clarity after the chaos of the last 20 minutes.

Adelaisa Vendicci ran onto the dock, followed by her soldiers. She stopped beside Marcus, as the rest of her man ran onwards.  
The older woman's face was one of confusion, more than anything. She shook her head slowly, staring at Marcus. "What you just did… I mean… If someone asked me to recount that, I don't think I'd be able to..."

"I don't blame you," Marcus chuckled lightly, "I'm somewhat surprised it worked myself."

Marcus exhaled hard, then stood up to his full height. He turned to look at the small village ahead. He could see the soldiers forming up and engaging the pirates.

"Ok," Marcus turned back to face Adelaisa. "Get your men to stay roughly around the village. Jenassa and I will head up and take care of that villa at the top."

"Understood." The Imperial woman nodded, and began jogging off to join her men.

Marcus turned to look at Jenassa, and gave her an encouraging grin. "Are you going to be ok?"

"I feel like I should be asking you that."

Marcus smiled, and readied his sword and dagger. With a flick of his head, he gestured up the island, and they set off at a brisk run.

After a few minor skirmishes in the town, they came to the expensive looking villa situated above the shacks and taverns. There were a few guards on the exterior, of a tougher proportion than those in the village, but now that Marcus wasn't actually fighting alone, it wasn't too much of a challenge. His magicka had replenished a little by this point as well.

The villa itself was made of a white-ish stone. It was similar to a lot of architecture from Hammerfell. It had a few gardens and hedges in varying states of upkeep. Marcus got the impression that this place hadn't originally belonged to pirates, and instead had been taken over a while back. He wouldn't have thought pirates would have had this much taste.

They entered the building, seeing a large entrance hall and a double staircase leading upwards. They opted to head straight upstairs, and check the higher levels. With any luck, one or both of these 'Jorge Brothers' might be unconscious in bed with a hangover. Or at least, that's what Marcus hoped. He didn't know too much about Eastern pirates.

Marcus nodded toward one end of a corridor that branched off to the side. "Check down there first, there might be a few pirates lingering around. Call out if you come across anyone, or need help."

Jenassa nodded, and walked off towards one end of the second level. Marcus continued forward, coming to a large set of double doors. He stepped through them, finding himself in a lavish double bedroom, with a balcony overlooking most of the Caldera. He could see a few columns of smoke curling into the sky, no doubt from the East Empire's assault.

Then Marcus heard a quiet grunt of exertion, and the sound of an object moving through the air at tremendous speed. Acting purely in instinct, Marcus threw himself to the floor, dropping his sword, and rolled onto his back.

A battleaxe, wielded by a Nord the size of an orc chieftain, crunched into the door right behind where Marcus' head had been a moment ago. The Nord looked down at Marcus, and made a wordless shout of anger, before wrenching his axe out of the door and preparing a massive downward strike at the prone figure on the floor. From out on the Balcony, another Nord of the same size came walking into the room, wielding a large greatsword.

Marcus looked quickly at the two of them, assessing the situation. He quickly breathed in a gasp of air, and shouted at the descending battleaxe.

"Fus!"

The single word of power wasn't quite enough to send the man flying backwards, but was enough to halt the incoming blow and make the Nord stagger backwards. Marcus then pushed at the ground with his feet, and did a backwards somersault onto his knees, gaining a bit of distance between himself and the figure in front of him.

Then Marcus heard another tell-tale grunt of exertion, and jumped backwards to avoid a scything downward blow from the second brother with the greatsword. With a crunch, the blade buried itself into the wooden floor, stuck fast. Marcus took advantage of this, and quickly whipped out his dagger and buried it into the exposed wrist of the Nord as he tried to dislodge his massive weapon.

With a shout of pain, the second brother staggered back, clutching his wrist. Blood trickled down his hand, and onto the floor. He stared at it briefly, then looked up at Marcus, a murderous glint in his eyes. He reached over with his other hand, and ripped the dagger out, without even a word, his gaze still fixed on Marcus.

Marcus raised an eyebrow at this. Rather theatrical, but it certainly showed that the man meant business.

With a roar, both brothers charged at Marcus, one wielding a battleaxe, the other wielding Marcus' knife.

Marcus darted forward toward the one holding his knife, and with both hands, summoned all his magicka and fired a dual-cast impact lightning bolt at the Nord. It hit the man in the centre of his chest, and knocked him backwards toward the far wall. No real damage, but plenty of force. Marcus lunged forward and grabbed his dropped dagger in a saber grip before it even hit the ground, before spinning around and burying it into the neck of the other Nord. The man emitted a gurgle, before Marcus jumped upwards and climbed onto his back, and wrenched his hand sideways, opening up a vicious gash across the man's throat.

Blood sprayed onto Marcus' hand and the wooden floor. The Nord attempted a cough, before falling down face-first. Marcus dropped off his back before the body hit the ground, hearing a solemn groan from the other side of the room.

The second Nord stared at the lifeless, bloodied body of his brother, before switching his gaze to Marcus. The Nord's eyes turned dark, his body quivered with rage. Emitting an almost inhuman roar, the Nord got to his feet, and charged at Marcus. No weapons, nothing. Just balled fists and a rage-filled body. The younger man looked sideways at his sword, and quickly threw the dagger at the fast approaching Nord, before lunging for the larger blade

The dagger struck the Nord in the upper leg, but did nothing to slow the man's movement or change his course. The guy barreled into Marcus, just as he was about to retrieve his sword. The Nord pinned Marcus down, and wrapped his big meaty hands around his neck.

Then slowly, with a savage grin of pleasure, the Nord began to squeeze.

Marcus scrabbled desperately at the large vice-like hands choking the life out of him. He didn't have the air to shout, had no weapons within reach, and was out of magicka. For the first time in a while, he actually didn't know what to do. He didn't have a plan. Marcus' vision began to blacken on the edges, slowly shrinking so that the only thing he could see were the murderous eyes of the man above him. His lungs began to burn, and the bones in his neck felt like they were grinding against each other.

Then a wet slicing sound was heard, and Marcus felt the warm trickle of blood around his chest area. He didn't feel any associated pain however, and his addled, oxygen-starved mind felt a modicum of confusion.

Then the grip around his neck slipped away, and Marcus immediately raked in several starved breaths. His throat stilled burned with pain, as did his lungs, but his vision gradually returned to normal.

The Nord slumped down on top of Marcus, who promptly pushed him off to see the figure of Jenassa standing over him, her sword dripping with blood.

"What happened to calling out when you came across something?" she asked him with a grin.

Marcus wheezed in response, attempting to make a witty remark but only managing a slightly sarcastic gasping noise. Jenassa smiled warmly at Marcus, and helped him to his feet.

Marcus tried to get some words out, "I… **gasp** Jena- **cough** Th..."

"Hey, hey," she placed a hand on his shoulder, "it's ok. Just, focus on breathing for a short while. There's no-one else alive in the building, I made sure of that."

Marcus nodded slowly, and breathed in a little more. Jenassa walked out onto the balcony and assessed the situation in the rest of the Caldera. The majority of the fighting seemed to be over, with the soldiers as the clear victor. Marcus had done a fine job clearing out the majority of the pirates and breaking their lines.

A minute later, Marcus came out of the room behind her, and walked onto the balcony. "Thank you," he said, "That's what I was trying to say. Thank you."

Jenassa turned and smiled at him, before looking out over the village below. The remaining pirates had surrendered, and were being escorted out to the ship, tied together by a rope. There weren't many.

"Well..." she said slowly, looking out over the area, and glancing back inside at the bloody corpses of the brothers. "I guess that's that."

Marcus asked, "You going to be ok?"

Jenassa nodded, and sighed. "Yeah, I will be. It's just… I found out they were all alive only a few days ago, and now they're all gone again. I'm beginning to not care anymore though, which I guess is a good thing."

Marcus nodded, and gently patted her shoulder. "I'll give you some time alone. Head back down to the ship when you're ready."

With those words, Marcus turned and walked away, leaving Jenassa on the balcony.

* * *

It was nighttime, back aboard the ship. The sea was calm, with a decent breeze, and Marcus leaned against the wood at the very front of the ship, looking out over the reflection of the stars and moons in the ocean water. It was a rather bright night.

The gentle 'pok' of water hitting the hull was almost enough to make him doze off, but he wanted a bit of peaceful time to do some thinking. He rarely got a quiet lull in his hectic life, so he wanted to enjoy this. He thought about Alduin, and Paarthurnax, and the scroll. Marcus knew he'd probably delayed long enough. He needed to head back up to the Throat of the World. Fate could be delayed, but only to an extent.

Marcus felt… listless, at the notion of reading the scroll. He knew he had to do it, he knew there was no other way, and he knew there wasn't really much more preparation he could do. Still, he felt the same way he did when his mother used to try and feed him leek as a little child. Desperate to avoid it, for no real reason other than he didn't want to.

In an ideal world, that reason alone - imply not wanting to do it - would be enough to warrant not doing it. But those sorts of rules didn't apply, at least not to Marcus. He'd lost track of the last time he'd done something purely because it was what he wanted.

He heard the shifting of feet behind him as someone approached, followed by one word, uttered very softly.

"Marcus…"

Marcus, curious as to who would be out on deck this late at night and would want to talk to him, turned. This turned out to be a mistake, or a blessing, depending in the perspective. Jenassa had walked up beside Marcus and was leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek as thanks. However, Marcus chose to turn at just the right time for the small peck to escalate into something more.

Unable, or unwilling to stop themselves, Jenassa and Marcus pressed their lips together in an unexpected deep kiss. Both individual's widened their eyes in surprise, and broke apart a second later. Even at night, the burning red in their cheeks was visible.

"I..." Jenassa stammered. "T-that… I'm..."

"It's..." Marcus gulped, "It's fine… You..."

They both lapsed into an awkward silence. Each one glanced away and looked at the floor. Jenassa was the first to recollect her mind.

She said, "So… ahem, what's next for you? Got any more adventures you'd like me to be along for?"

Marcus smiled nervously, his cheeks still flushed. "Of course… But probably not the very next one I'll be doing."

"What will you be doing?"

Marcus looked out over the sea, talking quickly, eager to change the subject. "I'll be climbing the Throat of the World again, and hopefully finding out how to defeat Alduin." He chuckled, and looked down at his hands, turning them over. "Gods… it sounds so weird to say that, you know? 'Defeat Alduin'. As if it's somehow something achievable..."

Jenassa, despite the recent embarrassment, moved a little closer to Marcus. "Well, if anyone can do it, you can."

Marcus looked at her, seeing her large sparkling red eyes. "Well, I'm glad one of us thinks so."

Jenassa raised her hand, and gently brushed it against Marcus' cheek. That said cheek turned red once more, but Marcus didn't move her hand away. Jenassa smiled warmly. "You're too much of a hero to fail, Marcus. Don't stay up too late, hmm?"

Then she let go of him, and walked away. Marcus watched her go, feeling a sense of warmth overcome the uncertainty that had been brewing in his chest. Then he turned to face the sparkling ocean once more.

* * *

Marcus stepped into Whiterun, and headed for the market. He'd stop by Breezehome later on, but he wanted to get a health regeneration potion, and he knew he didn't have any in that particular house. It'd also been a long time since he'd seen Lydia. Over 3 weeks, so he was certain he'd get interrogated and wanted to ensure he had the right 'account' of events to detail to her. Descriptive and truthful enough for him to pass her feminine inquisition, but false enough for her not to worry about him excessively. Of all Marcus' housecarls, she seemed to be the most protective, for some reason. Maybe because she'd been with him the longest, maybe because she was just that kind of person, he didn't know.

Marcus approached Belethor's shop, only to see Erik step out of it as soon as he was going to enter.

"Marcus!" Erik exclaimed, "What a wonderful surprise! How have you been?"

Marcus smiled, "Been better, been worse." He grasped the man in a firm handshake. "What about yourself?"

"I've been great," Erik smiled broadly, "I've escorted a few nobles these last weeks as a mercenary, I've been spending a lot more time in Whiterun, Ria's taken me on a few of her Companion adventures too..."

Marcus noticed the funny tone Erik switched to when he spoke about Ria. Almost… nervous, which was an unusual tone for the young man. He was uncertain, maybe curious and naive, but not nervous, not these days at least.

"Something the matter?" Marcus asked, arching an eyebrow.

Erik sighed, "Follow me, let's talk somewhere more private."

The older young man led Marcus to the edge of the city, at the wall overlooking the Western farms. Then Erik turned to face Marcus. He gulped, and took something out of his pocket. An emerald.

Erik began nervously. "I was actually hoping to see you sometime soon. Do you… are you able to forge jewelry?"

Marcus frowned at the odd question, studying Erik's worried demeanor up and down. Then he spied the golden glint of an amulet of mara underneath his armor. Then it clicked in Marcus' mind.

"You're…" Marcus' face burst into a grin. "You're going to propose to Ria, aren't you?"

Erik's face turned bright red. He took a deep breath before looking back up at Marcus with a prouder expression. "Yes. I am."

Marcus reached forward and clapped Erik on the shoulder. "Congratulations man! Though, she hasn't actually accepted yet, but I think it's a near certainty."

"You… you think?" Erik looked unsure. "I… We've been pretty close, but I wonder if I'm taking this too far."

Marcus shrugged. "I've been around Skyrim. Marriage for Nords is a pretty casual affair, so I don't think that'd be the case." Marcus clapped his hands together, "Now, I'm assuming you need my help to forge the ring, with that emerald?"

"Uh… yeah," Erik nodded quickly, "I… I'll be happy to pay you."

"By the Divines Erik..." Marcus slapped his forehead in mock humor, "You should know me well enough to know I don't charge my friends. In any event, I'm more than wealthy enough to cover it anyway. Now come on!"

Marcus grabbed Erik by the arm and led him towards Adrianne's forge, practically dragging the man along.

About an hour later, the ring was complete. It was a simple gold emerald ring, but Marcus felt like he'd added just enough subtle engravings and the like to make it unique.

Erik turned the small piece of jewelry over in his hands. It glinted softly. "What do the markings mean?" Erik asked, pointing to the small letters in the ring.

Marcus smiled, "I couldn't resist. It means 'everlasting' in the Dragon tongue. I though it might be a nice touch."

"I see," Erik breathed, nodding "That is a nice touch. I hope she'll be happy with it."

"I'm certain she will be. I'm a master craftsman, after all." Marcus said in a cheeky tone. He then reached forward and gave Erik a little push in the rough direction of Jorrvaskr up the road. "Alright, enough delays, get going. Go make Ria the luckiest girl alive."

Erik smiled guiltily, knowing he'd delayed enough. Marcus watched the man walk up the road, mustering his courage as he went. As he disappeared from view, Marcus sighed, and looked up at the sky. He couldn't ever imagine himself doing something similar. Marriage was just… separate to him, in his mind. Marcus knew what it was, how it worked, but he just couldn't fathom him ever doing it. It just… didn't click.

Marcus sighed again, and stood up. He'd delayed enough as well. He headed off toward the general store, intent on grabbing those potions.

A half-hour later, Marcus stepped into Breezehome. As soon as he'd closed the door, he heard the telltale sounds of rapid movements upstairs, followed by the image of Lydia rushing down the stairs with a joyous expression.

"Marcus!" she cried, rushing across the floor and wrapping him in a hug. Marcus returned the hug a little stiffly, not expecting the sudden affection.

Lydia released him with a hint of reluctance a few seconds later, brushing down his armor and looking him up and down. "It's been while. Too long, if you ask me. What's kept you so busy?"

Marcus shrugged, "You know… this and that. Nothing too dangerous, as you can see." He held his arms wide to gesture his general wellbeing. "I'll give you a more detailed account tonight, at dinner. I was thinking we could go to the inn."

Lydia scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. She peered at his face closely. "You have a new scar on your cheek. Left side."

Marcus rubbed his face involuntarily, remembering the warm sting of Mercer's blade. "Just… a lucky strike from a sword, that's all. Nothing to concern yourself with."

"You tend not to have a good idea of what I shouldn't concern myself with."

Marcus walked past her, mumbling. "One of us doesn't, anyway."

"What was that?" Lydia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing, Mum." Marcus called back sarcastically. He went and sat down near the fire, pulling out his journal and making a few notes. Lydia walked over and sat in the chair opposite, looking at him intently.

She asked tentatively, "So… What will you be doing next?"

Marcus sighed, writing down a few more words before closing the book up. "I… I think it's time I took the scroll up the mountain, and learned that shout."

"The one to defeat Alduin? Dragonrend?"

"That's the one," Marcus nodded. "I've been characteristically distracted. I shouldn't run from my fate, eh?"

Lydia hummed in agreement, brushing a few strands of her dark hair behind her ear. "How soon afterward will you be fighting Alduin?"

Marcus closed his eyes, trying to ensure his pulse didn't elevate. "I… Probably soon afterward. Not sure exactly when though. I may have to track him down, or he might come to me."

Lydia's face softened, seeing the anxiety in Marcus' face. He looked very worried, as he probably should be.

"When you do finally decide to face Alduin," Lydia said slowly. "I want to be there with you."

Marcus' eyes shot open. "Are you nuts? That'd be a death sentence! As is, I don't even know if I'll be making it out."

"That's why I want to come, Marcus." Lydia sounded adamant. "If there's anything I can do to help you, even if it's distract Alduin's mouth for a moment while he eats me, then it'll be worth it."

Marcus shook his head slowly. "Don't speak about your own death so lightly, Lydia."

She snorted, "You're one to talk."

Marcus twisted his hands, fidgeting nervously. He stood up and began pacing in front of the fire. "Even so, this won't be like any of the other fights. This is Alduin we're talking about. The Nordic God of Destruction. Are you sure you want to stand by me for this one?"

Lydia stood up, and walked over to Marcus. She placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from walking, then gently placed her other hand on his cheek, forcing him to look her directly in her eyes. His skin was burning hot under her hand.

"Marcus," she said slowly, "After everything we've been through… the Giants, Ustengrav, Kynesgrove, The Ratway… After all those mountains we trekked over, every enemy we cut down. Are you going to deny me the chance to stand by you at the culmination of it all?"

Marcus looked into her eyes, and felt a wrenching feeling in his chest. He closed his eyes, and nodded slowly.

"Fine..." he whispered.

"Promise me you'll let me be by your side."

Marcus hesitated, "I… I can't really promise that. I don't even know how or when I'll face Alduin… but know that I'll try my best, to make that happen."

Lydia smiled, and took one step closer to him. "Thank you."

Marcus reached up and gently pried her hand from his face. Such close contact was making him very… flustered. Marcus swallowed, his face turning slightly red. "I'll… uh, I'll head out tomorrow morning, I think. I'll let you know before I go."

He gave her a quick reassuring smile, before turning around and heading up to his bed to get some rest.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: 2 or 3 more chapters, and I'll be done with the main story. Then I'll do my super secret plans for the Dark Brotherhood quest line.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	31. Chapter 31

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 31 – A Summit of Peace and War

Marcus felt the cold wind rush past his face. A while back, he might've felt light-headed at the altitude, but after nearly a year in Skyrim, he'd gotten used to it. On another good note, he hadn't encountered any trolls or ice wraiths on his way up the mountain this time either. Marcus figured such creatures probably aren't able to get that far up the mountain very easily, so hopefully they wouldn't be hindering him anymore on his little trips to visit the old dragon. The trip was arduous enough as is, which was one of the reasons why Lydia opted to stay behind. She still affirmed that she would be with him to battle Alduin, when the time came, but listened to Marcus' advice that Paarthurnax probably wouldn't appreciate the extra audience. Especially since, in the eyes of the Greybeards, Lydia hadn't 'earned' her way up the mountain through using the Thu'um, like Marcus had.

In any event, Marcus wasn't anticipating anything dangerous. It was a simple procedure, in theory. Take the scroll, read it at the Time Wound, and learn the shout. He stepped through the archway into the clearing at the Throat of the World, seeing Paarthurnax resting atop his wall.

Marcus approached, the large Elder Scroll visible on his back.

"You have it..." Paarthurnax said slowly, once Marcus got close. "The Kel… the Elder Scroll. Tiid kreh qalos… Time shudders at its touch." The old dragon tilted his head sideways at Marcus, regarding him in an almost admiring tone. "There is no question. You are doom driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal."

 _Doom driven…_ Marcus thought slowly. _That certainly doesn't sound good._

"Go then," Paarthurnax said, "Fulfill your destiny. Take the scroll to the Time-wound. Do not delay, as Alduin will be coming. There is no way he can miss the signs."

Marcus, who had been looking at the Time Wound, snapped his head to the side to look at Paarthurnax. "Are… are you sure. Alduin will be coming here soon?"

Paarthurnax bowed his head. "Zu'u mindol ful. I think so. There are… omens, that Alduin would not be able to ignore."

Marcus looked over at the spire of distorted space. His heart began to beat faster. "Will… Can I expect to face him directly after emerging from the Time Wound?"

"Maybe," was all the Dragon said.

Marcus' eyes widened. He really, really hoped that wouldn't be the case. There was still so much he needed to do, so much he would've liked to prepare. He had hardly any healing potions, no magical scrolls, and hadn't even slept well that night. If Alduin did show up, Marcus would be in a very, very poor shape to fight him.

But he couldn't turn back, he couldn't go back down the mountain, that'd just mean Alduin would show up here, probably kill Paarthurnax, and wait for him to come back up. He needed Dragonrend more than he needed everything else.

But… if Alduin did show up… Marcus truly didn't think he'd be able to stop him. In his current state, with relatively common weapons, and armor made primarily out of tempered steel, it didn't take a genius to know it wasn't enough to take on the Firstborn of Dragons. He'd gotten a nasty scratch from a troll just the other day, for goodness sake.

Marcus felt his heart rate begin to speed up, thumping in a disjointed rhythm inside his ribcage. His breaths became choked. He recognised it as the onset of a panic attack. Marcus forced himself to slow his breathing, and closed his eyes. He then breathed in deeply, and exhaled hard. The wintery air filled his lungs, making him a token colder. Marcus repeated the exercise, until he felt the fear slowly relinquish its debilitating grip on his mind. He opened his eyes, to see Paarthurnax craning his head down to look at the young man closer. Marcus felt embarrassed. He was supposed to be a hero. He was supposed to be 'The Dragonborn'.

Paarthurnax noticed the borderline terrified stature the man had had for a minute. The old dragon nodded slowly. "It is fine to be afraid, Dovahkiin. Faas los onik. Only the foolish don't feel fear at Alduin's approach. The Gods chose you for a reason, have faith."

Marcus looked up at the dragon with a forlorn expression. He'd have 'faith' the day it stopped the burn of Dragonfire.

Still, Marcus swallowed hard, and took a few steps toward the time wound. As he entered it, the sound of snow and wind became muffled. He heard the thumping of his heart even clearer. He reached onto his back, and pulled out the scroll. It was large, but not heavy. He held it up with his left hand, reached forward with his right, and slowly pulled it open. A singular page stared back at him, a strange circular marking on the parchment. Similar to a spider's web, but with smaller circles dotted around inside it, as well as random lines darting between them.

Then the rune glowed bright blue, and Marcus felt the marking sear itself onto his vision, burning brightly.

Then his whole world turned to jelly, and he felt himself fall into blinding light.

* * *

Marcus felt weightless, watching the events in front of him unfold through a blurry lens, encircled by little blue runes and markings. It was… unusual, and hard to concentrate. Part of him wanted to simply close his eyes and sleep, but he forced himself to watch, and listen.

He watched as the ancient nordic heroes Paarthurnax had told him about, battled Dragons at the Throat of the World. Their movements were… fluid, yet strong. They moved with a certain grace of battle that made Marcus wish, in the back of his mind, he could.

Then Alduin showed up. He looked exactly the same as he did in Helgen, and at Kynesgrove, except a lot blurrier. Even in his non-corporeal state, Marcus felt his stomach twist into a knot at the sight of the Dragon. A gigantic, black and red behemoth, covered in horns and spikes. He shouted several words in Dovahzul at the three heroes. Marcus could hardly make it out. Something insulting, then a statement about their doom.

The nords replied, in a heroic tone, before each taking a simultaneous deep breath. That was when Marcus heard it:

"Joor… Zah Frul!"

A bright aqua ring burst from the lips of each hero, and slammed in Alduin. The energy lashed at him, seemingly sucking at the dragon's torso. Alduin strained, his wing movements slowing, and he dropped to the ground heavily.

The Dragon and mortals exchanged words, much of which was drowned out to Marcus. Then, the battle commenced. Even to these skilled nords, with the help of Dragonrend, it was still clearly a one-sided fight. The female hero got crunched between the jaws of Alduin, and was tossed away halfway through the fight. The second hero was brought to his knees by an unrelentingly bright blast of Dragonfire from the dragon. The hero called out to his third companion, who quickly brought out a very familiar looking scroll.

He began to chant rapidly, and a sphere of green energy enclosed around Alduin, slowly trapping him. With the final command from the nord, as he held the scroll up above his head, the sphere shrunk, and Alduin's body melted away with it.

Then everything was silence.

The nord who had read the scroll sighed, and walked over to help his injured friend to his feet.

"The World-Eater is gone… may the Gods have mercy on our souls."

* * *

Marcus felt himself get pulled back into reality, the world returning to a state of greater clarity. He felt the wind on his face, the chill of the air, and the faint tickle of snowflakes.

Then, he felt a sense of dread.

The same dread he'd felt at Helgen, as Alduin emerged into view from behind a mountain. The same dread he felt when he saw the charred corpses leading up the path to Kynesgrove. The same dread he felt less than 10 minutes ago, seeing Alduin in the vision.

Marcus knew what he was going to see, a second before he opened his eyes and saw it. His heart plummeted, splashing into his stomach and making him feel almost nauseous with dismay.

Marcus opened his eyes, and saw Alduin. He was hovering about 50 metres away, staring directly at him. The dragon was every bit as bad as Marcus' nightmares had portrayed him. Without the blurry filter of the scroll's vision, Marcus could 'appreciate' Alduin's physical might and majesty.

His black scales shone in the sunlight, with the hint of blood-red skin underneath as if the body of the beast contained a raging fire.

But it was the eyes of Alduin, that Marcus felt his gaze drawn to. Those two red orbs, like twin pools of lava. They stared out at the world with unblinking hatred… radiating an aura that made Marcus feel almost paralyzed with helplessness. These were truly the eyes of the apocalypse.

There was no more hiding from the thought. Marcus couldn't bury the notion any longer. There were no more little positive psychology tricks Marcus could tell himself to ease the anxiety… no more 'I'll cross that bridge when I come to it' mentalities, no more stepping stones to distract him. Alduin was here, and Marcus had to fight him, for the fate of everything that dwelled below the clouds.

Alduin's voiced boomed out, carrying across the mountaintop.

"Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor. My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin."

Marcus almost fell backwards. The reality of what he now had to do acting like an invisible weight, pushing him to the ground.

 _I'm not ready…_ Marcus thought desperately. _I… I'm not ready._

Alduin looked down at Marcus, eyes burning into the 22 year-old man's soul. "Die now… and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

Then, with an almighty downward push from his wings, Alduin moved forward, flying towards the clearing and beginning to circle it, eyes studying both Marcus and Paarthurnax.

Marcus closed his eyes, and forced himself to act. Raking in a breath with as much courage as he could muster, he reached down slowly, and pulled his sword and dagger out of their sheaths. The ringing of metal, and the firm grip on the hilts, comforted him slightly.

"Lost funt. You are too late, Alduin!" Paarthurnax roared, leaping off his wall and taking to the skies. "Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

Marcus gripped his weapons tighter, and ran into the centre of the clearing. Above, Alduin and Paarthurnax exchanged blasts of fire. Even from this distance, Marcus could feel the heat.

"Suleyki mulaag, Paarthurnax!" Alduin roared. "My power has waxed, while yours has waned. Aav uv dir… Join me or perish with your mortal friends."

Paarthurnax responded with a roar, and promptly blasted Alduin's wings with more fire. Marcus' heart wrenched as he saw how little the large volume of fire affected the large black Dragon.

Seeing them so close, Marcus saw why Alduin was named the firstborn of Dragons. He was so large, he could've blotted out the sun with his wingspan. He was at least 5 metres larger than Paarthurnax, in both wingspan and length.

Marcus felt the cold grip of fear clench around his heart once more, threatening to tear him to pieces emotionally. Marcus fought the feeling down, and swallowed hard. He needed to be brave, for the sake of everyone.

Blinking back tears, Marcus breathed in. As acceptance washed over him, he granted himself a brief thought of encouragement.

' _Make her proud, Marcus… Make Lora proud...'_

"Joor… Zah Frul!"

The shout of mortals rang out over the Throat of the World once again, and the sky was filled with the blue energy of Dragonrend, as it crashed into the dark figure of Alduin.

Alduin roared in frustration, and strained at the air. Slowly, he was forced to draw himself away from Paarthurnax, and land on the mountain clearing. The black dragon hunched over, the energy sucking away at his torso.

Alduin gazed at Marcus with burning indignation. "You may have picked up the weapons of your fallen heroes, but you are not their equal. Hi fen aam Zu'u, Dovahkiin..."

Marcus gazed back, a numbing buzz of energy slowly spread from his chest, and he felt dull anger wash over him. His eyes begin to harden, glowing to become a hint closer in shade to Alduin's.

"I will never bow to you."

Then the two figures lunged at each other. Alduin's maw opened up, and a searing blast of Dragonfire rushed toward Marcus. Every piece of snow in a 50 metre radius melted nearly instantly, turning the ground underfoot into a muddy mess of rock and dirt.

Marcus saw the blinding volume of fire approaching him, already feeling the heat on his skin, and quickly breathed in once more.

"Feim!"

His form turned ethereal a fraction of a second before the fire enveloped him. Inside the inferno, Marcus couldn't see anything but blinding orange. So instead, he closed his eyes, focusing on pushing at the ground with his legs as hard as possible, closing the distance. Then the red colour vanished from underneath his eyelids, and he opened his eyes to see the fire gone, and Alduin a mere two metres away.

Then the ethereal form dissipated, and Marcus was left face-to-face with the Devourer of Nirn.

Alduin lunged forward, tilting his head slightly to try and grasp Marcus inside his mouth. Marcus dodged to his right, while spinning so that his back was facing toward the Dragon. Then he brought up his sword, and completed the 360 degree spin, slashing the left side of Alduin's face as hard as he could.

The glass sword raked along the side of Alduin's face, crashing against the black scales and bony skin. Marcus had just enough time to glance at how much damage he'd done before having to dodge again.

There was just one scratch. The side of the dragon's face sported a thin white scratch along the dark scales and bone… Like he'd pressed a tiny piece of chalk against a blackboard, and moved it a few centimetres.

Alduin moved his head with a speed ill-fitting of something his size. He twisted his head around, and smacked it against Marcus, sending the man flying a few metres away. As soon as the large Dragon head hit him, Marcus felt a sharp pain in his stomach as one of Alduin's horns gored him in the lower stomach.

Marcus crashed into the ground, about 5 metres in front of Paarthurnax's word wall. He got onto his knees, and channeled a quick burst of restoration magic through his torso, sealing up the bleeding hole in his belly.

He looked up, and saw Alduin's glowing red mouth open again, and spoke three words that seemed to shake the entire world. The heavens began to twist and roil, forming what could only be described as an inverted tornado, that promptly began to spew fireballs. This same power had turned Helgen into a flaming wreck in seconds.

Marcus' vision blurred, just as it did in Helgen. When the world returned to focus, he saw the bright swirling shape of a fire whirlwind racing toward him.

Knowing he didn't have the time to shout or dodge, Marcus dropped his dagger, and held his left hand out in front of him, and began to cast a ward at the approaching death. Thanks to the significant practice Marcus had with wards, it managed to get completely charged before the small fire tornado hit, but it probably wouldn't have mattered. As soon as the fire hit the ward, the magical barrier exploded like a pane of glass shattering, and Marcus was flung backwards once more.

He slammed against the stone wall behind him, his head smacking against the hard rock and making his whole world plunge into painful darkness. He regained consciousness a second later, face down in the watery icy slush and feeling the trickle of blood in his scalp. He pushed himself up, reaching into a pouch and swallowing one of the two concentrated healing potions he'd brought.

The pain in the back of his head subsided, and the inky blackness on the edges of his vision disappeared, allowing Marcus to see that his quarry had returned to the skies. Marcus stepped forward a few steps, and was overcome with a wave of dizziness. That blow to the head wasn't entirely healed it seemed. He reluctantly cast a little more restoration magic, and ran into the centre of the mountaintop, picking up and sheathing his sword. His dagger was nowhere to be seen, buried somewhere under a pile of wet earth and snow. Alduin and Paarthurnax were dueling again, in yet another one-sided fight. Alduin dived forward to grapple with his brother in mid-air, crashing his jaws around Paarthurnax's neck, and practically throwing him away. Paarthurnax faltered, and slipped below the edge of the mountain, out of Marcus' view.

Alduin then turned his attention to the young man standing in the middle of the clearing. Marcus felt very much out of breath… out of hope. The severity of the injuries he'd received in the last few minutes weighed against the futility of the injuries he'd managed to enact upon Alduin. Was there even a chance to stop the dragon? Was it something that could even be done?

Marcus didn't know, but after clenching his fists, and raking in a lungful of air, he knew he couldn't give up.

Alduin dived down toward Marcus, the talons in his feet outstretched to snatch up Marcus, gore him several times, and drop him from a great height. Marcus began to run forward, summoning a dark purple magic into his hands. As Alduin was nearly upon him, about to crash into the ground and wrench him skyward, Marcus crouched into a powerslide, activating the conjuration magic in his hands, while flattening his body as best he could against the melted snow slush.

Marcus missed Alduin's talons by a hair, the large claws slicing the space where Marcus had been a second ago and causing the displaced air to brush against Marcus' face. He spun around, and pulled back the arrow on his bound bow, lying almost on his back as he aimed at the Dragon above and a little in front of him. A perfect shot at the exposed underbelly. Exhaling slowly, like Aela and Niruin had taught him, Marcus released the arrow.

The projectile sailed true, and dug itself neatly into the thin gap between the segmented plates of scaly armour on Alduin's torso. It went in deep enough to earn a grunt of pain from Alduin, and stayed firmly lodged in there. Marcus' heart soared as he heard the grimace from the big black Dragon. His mission wasn't impossible, after all. Marcus fired a few more arrows at the Dragon, scoring a couple hits on his neck and tail. They traded blasts of Thu'um briefly, Marcus barely managing to dodge Alduin's fire by ducking behind rocks or the word wall, while Alduin seemed to shrug off every ring of fire and frost breath Marcus sent his way.

Then one of the raining fireballs slammed into Marcus from above, exploding in fire and knocking him to the ground. The bits of flying rock sliced around his neck, causing a dozen little cuts, and damaging his armor badly.

Marcus' shoulders were exploding in pain, and he realized that his left collarbone was broken. He got his arms underneath his chest, and pushed up at the ground. Weight seemed to shift on his back, and then a soft thud was heard next to him. Marcus glanced over. The pauldron of his armor had fallen off. It had been so badly damage, almost shattered, that it had dislodged from the rest. That had never happened before. Marcus wasn't even aware that skyforge steel could be damaged to such an extent. It looked like the crappy half of an eggshell.

Marcus tore his gaze away from the sorry remains of a piece of his armor, and stood up. He summoned the rest of his magicka, and channeled it in a blast through his torso, wincing in pain as his collarbone clicked back into place.

Marcus staggered to his feet, only to see Alduin hovering in front of him, almost directly above the centre of the mountain clearing. His maw was open and his chest heaved in a breath of air, preparing to breath fire. Marcus wouldn't be able to shout quick enough to avoid it. 'Become Ethereal' might have worked, but he was completely out of breath. His mind drew a blank, for a second too long, and Alduin breathed out.

Then something unexpected happened. Instead of fire emerging from Alduin's mouth, a rushing cascade of frost spewed forth instead. Marcus caught the gout of frost directly in the chest. It was… staggeringly painful, literally. But it wasn't fatal, not quite.

Marcus felt the little needles of ice tear across his face and arms, ripping small holes in the exposed fabric of the robes underneath his armor and creating little cuts and gashes all over his body. The frost air was so cold it almost felt as burning hot as dragonfire. It caused large frostbite burns on most of the exposed skin, working in tandem with the needles tearing holes in his clothing.

Without Marcus' quarter nordic blood, and some of the enchantments he'd placed on his armor, he would've died.

The volume of frost breath brought Marcus to his knees, the young man practically swaying. Almost falling unconscious, he very nearly threw up on the spot from the volume of warning sensations his mind was throwing at him.

His armor was almost in pieces. Little tattered pieces of fur and cloth from the arch-mage robes hung off him in loose strips, and much of the armor plating was bent, broken, or deeply scratched.

Alduin was still there, his huge wings throwing up clouds of powdery snow. He tilted his giant head slightly. Marcus had put up a decent fight. He'd fought with the same amount of strength as the three nordic heroes combined, and they had an Elder Scroll.

"Kul dinok, Dovahkiin," Alduin said slowly, before breathing in once more and preparing to finish him off.

Then a roar was heard above, and Paarthurnax burst out from the above clouds, rushing towards Alduin with tremendous speed. The two dragons collided, and Paarthurnax pushed Alduin sideways, wrestling with him midair until they both crashed into the very peak of the mountain. They disappeared from view around the other side, with the sounds of gnashing teeth, Thu'um, and wing beats filling the air. Marcus glanced upwards, looking around as best he could with blurry vision and torn muscles. He could feel the coppery taste of his own blood in his mouth.

He fumbled slowly at a pouch, and tried to pull out his last healing potion. It slipped through his bloody fingers, and hit the ground. The red colour of the bottle blended in too well with the bloodied snow near him. After a few painful seconds, Marcus managed to get the potion open, and gulped down its contents. He felt some of the wounds heal, but the pain remained. It was much too little, much too late.

Marcus closed his eyes, trying to desperately force his brain to think… to come up with some idea on how to win. There had to be a plan of attack he could use, some kind of strategy. He stayed where he was, kneeling in the dirty snow, staring straight ahead. His mind drew a blank. All he could think of were the people below. How many lives were riding on him? The fate of how many souls rested on the shoulders of this battered, beaten man?

The sound of movement, and rocks being pushed around drifted into Marcus' ears. Above, from around the side of the mountain peak, Alduin crawled into view. Paarthurnax was nowhere to be seen.

Alduin clung to the mountain, and slowly crept down. He didn't move stealthily, but tired rather, like he'd rather not take flight just this moment. His scales sported numerous scratches. No visible bleeding or actual injuries, but his fight with Paarthurnax had certainly not been a minor scuffle. The larger black dragon was fatigued, if not hurt. This entire fight had drawn out longer than anticipated.

Alduin made his way into the clearing, stopping just 20 metres opposite Marcus, close by to the Time Wound. Marcus stared blankly at the large black dragon, his body feeling impossibly tired. His mind was giving him nothing. No ideas, no plans, no hope.

Alduin breathed heavily, his large frame rising and falling with each heave. His large head swiveled to look at Marcus.

"Daar lein los dii, Dovahkiin. The fight of your kind has always been in vain."

Marcus breathed out heavily, his breath fogging in front of his face. "It.." He raked in a shuddering gulp of air. "It was never your place to rule this world… your claim will never be left unchallenged."

"Nust los ni hin sos. Do not group yourself with those petty mortals, Dovahkiin. You are as much one of us, as you are one of them."

Despite the situation, Marcus couldn't help but smile. He couldn't picture himself as a dragon. He lacked the jawline and deep voice, to be honest.

Alduin pushed himself up, and stood a little higher. "Your strength is wasted against your brethren. I admire your courage, even if it is… misplaced."

Marcus clenched his jaw at those words. _My strength isn't wasted fighting you… or any of you. I couldn't spend it better._

Marcus began to feel… warmer. A broiling heat began to slowly churn in the centre of his chest, like a more comfortable version of heartburn. An energizing feeling of anger, in a sense. He welcomed it, feeding it the sensations of pain he felt, and let it grow in his body. Marcus looked down at the snow in front of his knees, and began blocking out other feelings, and just focused on… focusing… trying to rip himself out of the pit of exhaustion he was tumbling down.

Alduin shifted his weight around, spreading out his wings, and moving them slowly, like he was stretching the muscles, testing their strength to see if he could take flight again. He didn't seem too fussed on dealing with Marcus right this second. The large black dragon breathed in several times, and moved a little closer to Marcus.

"Zu'u koraav hin vod." Alduin's voice rang out above Marcus. "In another time and place, perhaps we could have been your new family."

Images flicked through Marcus' mind. Images of people. Lydia, Erik, Marcurio, Illia, Jordis, Brelyna. The Companions. The College. The Guild. A rapid collection of laughing faces, pats on the back, and words of jest rush through Marcus' mind. Good people, who were happy that Marcus was in their lives.

Marcus reached down beside him, and pulled out his sword. He planted it in the ground, and slowly, using it to lean on, he pushed himself up. Alduin watched, stunned, if a dragon could be.

Marcus clenched his teeth, and raised his head, before opening his eyes and staring directly at Alduin. His eyes burned bright, almost as bright as Alduin's.

Marcus' words rang out over the clearing. "I already have a new family… and I will not lose them again."

Then Marcus began to run. Through some kind of otherworldly intervention, or from sheer force of will, he found the strength to move, to sprint. Alduin wasn't expecting anything more from the battered man, and barely had time to breath out another blast of fire. At that point, Marcus was close enough to drop to his knees, and cast a ward spell directly above him as he slid along the slushy ice. The ward would've have been enough to block the fire outright, but it didn't need to. Marcus' position during the slide was low enough that the ward simply protected against the licks of flame that reached downwards. The magicka use caused a flaring headache to spring up in his mind, but at this point pain was a distant sensation for Marcus.

Then Marcus was directly underneath Alduin's head, staring up at the scaly neck and chin of the Dragon. He raked in a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with as much air as possible.

"Fus… Ro Dah!"

At point blank range, the shout slammed into Alduin's head and neck, and launched the Dragon upwards. Alduin was forced onto his back legs, standing straight up to an unstable point. His wings beat furiously as the large Dragon tried to stabilize itself. Marcus crouched down, looking up at Alduin just a few metres in front of him. He gripped his sword with white knuckles, and launched himself upward with every ounce of strength and energy left in his body. He leapt upward, and collided with the bottom of Alduin's neck, right where it met the rest of his body. Marcus' added weight pushed Alduin over the tipping point, and the gigantic black Dragon fell backwards.

Marcus gripped his sword in both hands, and eyed a certain gap in the neck armor where his bound arrow had struck. The arrow had dissipated, but the damage it had dealt hadn't. As Alduin's back hit the ground, Marcus plunged his sword downward, so that the force from falling, and the force from Marcus' strength, added together and multiplied the speed of the weapon.

The blade hit the gap in the armour, and with a crunching sound, broke through the hard scales. With a twist, Marcus wrenched the sword downward, and the blade sunk in deep.

Alduin emitted a throaty roar, as his blood was drawn for the first time in a millennia, in no small way.

Steaming black blood welled out of the wound, around the edges of Marcus' sword. Triumph and righteous fury blazed in Marcus' eyes as he saw the wound. Feeling newfound energy, Marcus wrenched his sword out, and saw a large gaping wound in the centre of Alduin's neck. As Alduin tried to shift and throw the man off his body, Marcus held his sword in his left hand, before reaching out with his right, and summoning every ounce of mental energy he had. His vision began to sport tiny spots of colour, growing in size as the magicka drained away at Marcus' life force.

Fire burst alight in his hands, growing so bright it looked like he held a miniature sun in the palm of his hand. With a borderline draconic roar, Marcus threw his hand down and blasted the fireball directly into the wound he'd created with his sword. The damaged flesh underneath Alduin's scales was filled with searing fire, scorching everything around it into a black, charred mess.

Alduin let out a groan, and wrenched his body sideways, flipping himself onto his stomach and tossing Marcus off, but also crushing one of his wings underneath his own spiked back.

Marcus rolled onto the ground, and immediately tried to stand up as fast as he could, managing to get to his knees before a wave of nausea rushed through his mind. Alduin looked at Marcus, and retreated a few metres away. He tried to open his mouth to breath fire or frost but all he could manage was a bloodied cough. Marcus got up from his kneeling position, to his feet, and gripped his sword tighter.

Alduin glared at Marcus. A flicker of uncertainty danced in the dark Dragon's eyes.

Marcus spat out a glop of blood, and showed his bloodied, gritted teeth at the Dragon.

"Mindok fin faaz, Alduin." Marcus said slowly, before half-running, half limping in the direction of the behemoth.

Alduin roared in fury, and lunged forward, his huge head darting to crush Marcus between his teeth. The Dragon's movements were slower, now. The immortal monster was finally beginning to tire. Marcus dropped to the ground, flat on his stomach, and then rolled to the left quickly. The Dragon's teeth clamped together just next to his head with a crunch. Marcus quickly stood up and hacked quickly at Alduin's snout. The dragon swung his head in the direction of Marcus, who proceeded to jump toward the oncoming head, grabbing a hold of one of the head spikes and swinging himself over to the other side of the Dragon. Marcus quickly hacked a little at the other side of Alduin's head, but in his fatigued state, he wasn't doing a whole lot. Alduin growled angrily, and shied away from Marcus, before snaking his head upwards and shouting down at him.

"Fus, Ro Dah!"

The familiar blue energy rushed out of the Dragon's mouth, and launched Marcus a solid 5 metres away. It was unpleasant, being on the receiving end of the shout for a change.

Alduin began heaving his wings up and down, picking himself up and flying upwards. Marcus picked himself up out of the snow, his muscles screaming in protest. He could see Alduin circling, his stature in the sky looking very unstable.

Marcus would need to bring Alduin down to the ground, but the only way to do that was with Dragonrend, and he could feel the burn in his throat from using so many Thu'um. He'd shouted so many times in the last hour he'd lost count. He didn't think he could manage another three full words.

He turned, and spied the word wall that Paarthurnax often rested on. One of its edges was sloped, like a really thin ramp leading up to the top of the wall. Marcus turned around again, and saw that Alduin was coming in for an attack, probably hoping to pick Marcus up and throw him off the edge of the mountain.

Marcus quickly ran over to the word wall as fast as he could, hiding behind it and forcing Alduin to wave off. Marcus leaned back against the back of the wall, pressing his head against the hard stone. He didn't have much fight left in him. In a basic war of attrition like this, he simply couldn't beat Alduin.

Marcus swallowed the blood that had been slowly filling his mouth, and steeled his nerve. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it properly.

Marcus ducked out from behind the wall, and ran a few metres out into the open. Alduin roared as he saw his target, and circled around to the north-east to perhaps do a strafing attack. Marcus needed to get his idea in first.

As Alduin approached, Marcus made sure he was facing him, and slowly breathed in. Saying a silent prayer to the divines that he'd be able to squeeze in one last word of power, Marcus shouted at the approaching Dragon.

"Joor!"

Marcus' voice held true, and the aqua blast hit Alduin. Although smaller than the full shout, it was enough to force Alduin to drop in altitude, and focus on staying in the air rather than attacking him. Alduin's body drifted closer to the ground, and as he circled around once more, approaching directly from behind the word wall, Marcus knew it was now or never.

His legs, arms, and pretty much everything else felt dead tired, but Marcus forced himself to start running once more. He gripped his sword in his right hand, and ran up the side of the word wall, making sure he didn't overbalance and fall off the thin path of stone. Marcus reached the top of the wall just as Alduin was about to fly over it. Not slowing down, the young man threw himself off the edge, towards the approaching Dragon.

Marcus' luck held, and he managed to bury his sword into the soft flesh at the base of Alduin's left wing. The scales there were softer, and thinner to ensure easier mobility of the limb, and thus wasn't enough to deflect Marcus' sword.

The blade's edge dug itself into Alduin's wing, releasing a small spray of blood, and pulled the dragon down. Unable to stop himself, with the combined Dragonrend shout and wing injury, plus the extra limp weight hanging onto him, Alduin crashed down onto the ground with a spray of dirt and snow. Marcus got lost in a spinning world of snow, rocks, and Dragon limbs. Something hard hit him on the back of the head, and everything went black.

Marcus awoke around 10 seconds later, as he heard Alduin begin to stir. He was about 15 metres from where the dragon finally ended up. His chest was wracked with pain. Breathing alone was difficult.

Alduin dragged himself along the ground, to the edge of the mountain. He looked back at Marcus.

"Meyz mul, Dovahkiin, you have grown strong." Alduin's voice sounded, ragged. "But I am Alduin, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone! You cannot prevail. I will outlast you, mortal..."

Then Alduin heaved himself off the edge of the mountain, spreading out his damaged wings, and managing a glide away.

Marcus watched the dragon leave. He honestly didn't think his body could do anything more.

Silence broke out on the clearing. It was in such contrast to the frantic noise of battle, that it was almost deafening in its own right. The lack of external input and immediate danger allowed Marcus' body to switch off the 'extreme conditioning' mode it had been in for the last hour, and a wave of sensations hit him. Primary among them, was pain. Lots of pain.

The cumulative stress, injuries, and exhaustion hit Marcus like a wave, and he sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

Marcus awoke an uncertain amount of time later. At least a few hours, if the snow buildup on his body was anything to go by. He still felt like trampled cow shit, but he didn't think he was about to drop dead anytime soon.

In front of him, head craned down in concern, was Paarthurnax.

The old dragon looked pretty worse for wear, but he was alive.

"Paarthurnax," Marcus said, his voice sounding more croaky than he'd like. "I thought you were dead."

"I almost thought the same of you, Dragonborn." Paarthurnax inclined his head in respect. "Lot Krongah. You truly have the voice of a Dovah. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory."

The old dragon's words reminded Marcus of the situation he'd just been in. The situation he'd just survived.

He'd held his own against Alduin. The Devourer of Worlds.

Marcus had actually survived.

The young man began to smile. A tired smile, but one full of bounding relief nonetheless. He'd actually beaten Alduin down enough to make the big dragon flee. He hadn't died, and the world wasn't doomed. It was a terrific sensation. To have the fears and doubts about himself allayed by just a small amount, it meant so much to him. His task wasn't without hope, after all. If Alduin could be driven off, if he bled, he could be killed.

Marcus tried to sit up, and found that he physically couldn't. Frowning, he tentatively channeled a little healing magic through him. His magicka levels had replenished somewhat, while he'd been unconscious. He got onto his feet, and stretched, feeling much better.

"Do you know where Alduin went?" Marcus asked.

Paarthurnax shook his head. "No… but I know one of his allies who might. Motmahus. But it will not be easy to… convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the hofkahsejun – the palace in Whiterun, Dragonsreach. It was built to house a captive dovah. A fine place to trap one of Alduin's allies, hmm?"

Marcus remembered the verses from the Burning of King Olaf. True, there once had been a dragon trapped in Dragonsreach, but he doubted it'd be easier to do it again.

 _Pretty sure Numinex was a frost Dragon, as well…_ Marcus thought slowly, picturing the large wooden structure of Dragonsreach.

"It may be hard to convince the Jarl of Whiterun to agree to that..."

Paarthurnax nodded "Hmm, yes. But your Su'um is strong. I do not doubt you can convince him of the importance."

"Hmm..." Marcus looked unconvinced. He looked down at his armour, and equipment. His sword was pretty blunted, his armour was basically torn to shreds. He really hoped the greybeards down the mountain might have some spare robes or something. The state of his gear reminded just how dangerous that fight had been. Luck, had been the primary deciding factor in why Marcus had walked away alive, and luck could run out.

Then the feeling of anxiety returned. Wherever the next battle could place, would Marcus actually be able to kill Alduin? Who would finish off who? Had the Dragon left because he was uncertain of Marcus, or because he would rather fight elsewhere? Would Marcus be able to challenge Alduin to the extent where he could actually kill him?

Marcus sighed. Paarthurnax noted the sudden downcast attitude of Marcus.

"What is troubling you? You have a clear path ahead."

Marcus walked around the clearing, looking and kicking over snow in search of his dagger. "I just..." Marcus shrugged slowly, "Alduin nearly killed me. As is, he probably could've finished me off. I don't really know why he didn't. What's to say the next battle won't be any different, only without Alduin holding back?"

Paarthurnax looked at Marcus for a long couple seconds. "Alduin is no simple dragon, true. His strength seems limitless. Rok lost pogaas suleyk. But know this: In all history, no-one has ever managed to face him in combat like you have, and survived. Have more faith, Dragonborn."

Marcus sighed, and nodded at the floor. He subconsciously scratched the rune on his chest, the one he made Colette and Sergius give him. His contingency plan. Would he have to use it? Would that be the deciding factor that swayed the battle? Would it be what tipped the scales so that Alduin could die?

It could very well be. Conventional means didn't seem to do a whole lot against Alduin.

Marcus looked at the ground, the snow swirling around his feet, tracing circles and rings around where he stood. The wind blew through his hair, but the coldness he felt wasn't from the weather. He looked up, and stared into the large, dark eyes of Paarthurnax. The Dragon looked back.

First things first. Deal with a lieutenant of Alduin. Worry about your mortality and potential death later.

Marcus thanked Paarthurnax, turned on his heel, and began walking down the mountain.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Was away from home for 5 days this last week, so the chapter's a bit later. Sorry about that, but not much I could do. A good 'role credits' moment in this chapter as well, if you get the reference. Hope you all enjoyed round one against Alduin. Marcus got suitably messed up, as did his gear. I always felt the original Alduin fights lacked… gravitas. Though I'm hoping the one in Sovngarde will be much more impressive than this one. Be sure to let me know what you liked/disliked about this battle, and I'll keep it in mind for the final one. Feedback is always greatly appreciated.**

 **Also another hint to his past before Skyrim. This time I dropped a name, but who's name was it?**

 **There won't be anything but main story from here until it's finished. They might take me longer, but I want to do them correctly, rather than quickly. I estimate two more chapters, after this one, then it'll be finished and I can officially wrap up 'Act 1' of this story. Took me long enough…**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	32. Chapter 32

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 32 – Ducks in a row

Marcus saw the large silhouette of Dragonsreach from a distance. The evening sun was behind it, casting a soft glow around the edges, but making much of the actual city a dark shape. Marcus felt a bit cold, in the plain brown robes the Greybeards had given him. Still, it was better than the sorry remains of his old armor. He'd debated whether taking it back and repairing it was viable, but it would've been more time-efficient just to make a new set. He wondered whether he should put it on display in his house, as a sort of testament to his first battle with Alduin, but decided against it. He wasn't really one for sentimentality.

He ended up chucking the smoky, torn, battered remains of his armor over the waterfall near the Valtheim Towers, and walked onward without a second thought. The gear had served him well, but it was now pretty much worthless. Marcus had other thoughts on his mind, however. He was considering the agreement he'd had with Lydia.

Wherever Alduin was, the next time Marcus went to face him, Lydia would want to come. She would demand it, rather. But now, after fighting Alduin once, Marcus knew exactly what would happen, should she fight with him.

Lydia would die.

It was such a certainty that Marcus didn't even give it a second musing. He wasn't even sure how he'd personally managed to survive, or find the second wind that helped him bring the big black bastard down. Without that sort of 'subconscious control' that took him over during a Dragon fight, Lydia wouldn't stand a chance. Her prediction that she'd still prove useful for a short time was accurate, most likely, but she'd still die sooner or later.

Marcus really, really didn't want that to happen. He couldn't let it happen. He owed it to Lydia, after everything that they'd been through, to at least survive this ordeal. She was a good person, and deserved a full life. Serving him in the final battle, wherever it might take place, would only end in her death.

The outcome of the battle was uncertain, at best, but he didn't think that the added help from Lydia's presence would make enough of a difference to justify watching her die.

Marcus sighed, wishing forlornly that his life was just a bit simpler, or at least contained less complicated people, and continued walking.

Marcus made it to Breezehome without any further difficulty. Lydia immediately peppered him with questions, chiefly of which was why he looked so beat up, and what happened to his armour. Marcus told her to sit down near the fire, fully aware of the revelation he was about to place on her.

He sat down in the opposite chair, and sighed, before smiling in a sorry manner. "Alduin was waiting for me after I read the scroll and learned the shout. We… fought, on the top of the mountain."

Lydia's face dropped, and turned slightly pale.

Marcus scratched his cheek. "I… managed to beat him enough that he fled. My stuff got badly damaged, I had to ditch it."

Her mouth dropped open, like a trapdoor. She stared blankly at him, and Marcus felt a bit worried. He wasn't sure how she'd react. There were things about his statement for her to be happy about, and upset about.

Eventually, she opened and closed her eyes a few times, and gave a small smile. "You… wow. I guess I was right to not doubt you..."

Marcus blushed slightly, casting his gaze to the floor. "Uh, thanks."

"What's next? Do you know where Alduin's gone?"

"No, but I have a plan to find out."

Marcus detailed his plan that he'd worked out with Arngeir and Paarthurnax, involving luring a Dragon to Dragonsreach. Lydia was surprised on hearing the unorthodox nature of the plan, but agreed that there wasn't any viable alternatives. She insisted on being there for the trapping, and Marcus couldn't think of a sufficient reason to deny her. A lower lieutenant shouldn't be too much of a hassle, especially seeing as they'd fought Dragons together before, and there'd be a whole contingent of Whiterun guards there too. Plus, they didn't need to kill it, only subdue it.

Lydia asked him a few more questions about the battle, and Marcus tried his best to answer, leaving out the parts that contained him getting viciously mutilated. She got the impression he was holding back certain details, and felt somewhat annoyed that he felt he had to, but slightly pleased that he cared enough to want her to feel better.

After a brief dinner, Marcus admitted he wanted to go to bed, and headed upstairs. Lydia called out to him as he reached the top.

"What are you going to do for armour?" she asked, "Are you going to make another set like your old one?"

Marcus chewed his lip. "I… I'm not sure. I'll think about it." Then he headed inside his room, changed into some regular clothes, and jumped into bed. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

* * *

Marcus walked up to Eorland's forge. The clanging of metal filled the air. It was comforting, in a sense, for him. The noise drowned out some of the worrying thoughts that plagued him so much. Eorland looked up as he came up the steps.

"Marcus!" he put down his tools and walked over, giving the man a firm handshake. "How are you doing? Where's your armour?"

Marcus smiled, and rubbed the back of his head "Yeah, about that..."

He laid out what had happened over the past few days. The fight with Alduin, the various trials it entailed, and how his equipment had been so damaged he had to ditch it.

"Do you have anything left over?" Eorland asked, eyes wide upon hearing how badly the Dragon had damaged the culmination of himself and Marcus working many hours at the forge. The armour was a work of art, really. A good blend of everything. It saddened him as a craftsman to know that it had been destroyed.

"Not really." Marcus said somberly. "I still had my sword, but it was so blunted it's basically a butterknife at this point. I was wondering how long it'd take to make a new set of gear?"

Eorland rubbed his chin, looking doubtful. "Longer than you'd like. You'd probably have to help me a fair bit too, I wasn't entirely responsible for making it, if you remember. You know as much about that mishmash armor's intricacies as I do."

"Hmm..." Marcus rubbed his wrist, "I mean… there's a few things I need to sort out soon. I was hoping I could leave this project with you and deal with some problems, and come back for it later."

Eorland shrugged, and sat down on the edge of his forge. He sighed, and gestured open-palmed to the younger man. "It'll take me a long time. As is, it mightn't be enough to get you through the next fight with Alduin, if the last one was enough to trash it. It might be worth considering something stronger."

Marcus chewed his lip. "I know… but like what? Most of the armours that'd be protective enough are too heavy to be useful for my type of fighting. I'd end up coping more hits than I'd like. That's why I liked the old set. It was a good 'medium' armour."

Eorland shrugged again. "As much as I hate to admit it, you know as much as me at this point Marcus. I can't offer you any new advice. It's up to you."

Marcus sighed, nodding with his eyes closed. "Yeah… you're right. Still got that book I lent you?"

Eorland nodded. "The half-gibberish dwarven one, right? Yeah, it's here somewhere."

The blacksmith walked over to his little workbench and shifted a few bits of scrap and metal away, and pulled out the translated version of Marcus' dwarven journal he'd got from Blackreach.

Marcus asked, "Find out anything interesting from it?"

"Not really. It's as you said, the Dwemer smith could create both sets of armor just fine, the ebony chainmail – the heavy armor, and the chitin plate – the light armor, but he just couldn't mix the two together. It seems that the temperatures he needed to forge and meld the ebony just kept making the chitin crack."

"Any ideas to fix it?"

Eorland raised an eyebrow. "Thinking of continuing his work? Well… I'm not sure myself. It isn't really the sort of materials I normally deal with. If you were really good at enchanting, you could make the chitin resistant to heat… but that mightn't be enough." Eorland scratched his cheek, looking into the glowing embers of the skyforge. "Personally, I don't think the chitin was the right material, period. You'd be better off finding something more… resistant to heat and damage. Some kind of bone or ceramic material maybe?"

Marcus' face creased into a frown, one of deep concentration. A few things clicked in his mind. An idea, or sorts. "Bone… you say?"

"Anyway, here's the book." Eorland handed it over. Marcus absent mindedly pocketed it, his mind still clearly elsewhere, thinking hard. Eorland looked at him expectantly, waiting to see if there was something else in him needing an answer.

Then Marcus jolted somewhat, realizing he'd been just standing there for a minute.

"Sorry Eorland," he said, nodding to the man. "I won't take up much more of your time, take care."

"You too Marcus." The smith gripped his hand firmly in a goodbye handshake. "Try not to die, you hear? You're one of the good ones."

Marcus smiled, and nodded, before walking away.

* * *

Marcus shivered against the cold mountain air. He seemed to make this trip up the mountain a lot these days. Yet, each time he felt he had something to ask of the venerable Thu'um masters. This time, he'd have to ask them to partake in the signing of a truce.

Marcus heaved open the doors to High Hrothgar. Arngeir was meditating just inside. He stood up as the younger man approached.

"Dragonborn," he said, bowing slowly, "What brings you here?"

Marcus bowed back. "Arngeir. I… I need your help to stop the war."

Arngier frowned deeply. "You misunderstand us. The Greybeards have never involved themselves with political matters."

Marcus shook his head. "There's no other way. I need Jarl Balgruuf's help to trap the dragon, and he won't do so until the war is dealt with."

"You will need to find another way, Dragonborn." Arngeir's frown remained adamant. "We've remained neutral and out of these issues for thousands of years. We will continue to do that."

Marcus closed his eyes. He didn't have time for this. He took a step closer to the old man, not threatening, but firm. He looked the old man directly in the eyes. "This land bleeds. It weeps. The war ravages the lives of countless souls, and the Dragons ravage the rest. You say you strive for peace, and yet here you are, unwilling to do anything to achieve it. You've prayed to the Gods for guidance, and the Gods sent me. This is the **only** way."

Arngier sighed, then nodded slowly. "I... you are right. I see. The Dragon leads you to Alduin, but without the Jarl's help, getting that Dragon will be impossible… If Paarthurnax has chosen to help you, this is the road we have to walk, it seems. So be it, tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak with them."

Marcus bowed deeper. "Thank you. This means more than you realize."

Marcus turned to leave, but Arngeir stopped him.

"One thing though, Marcus."

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure that these men of war aren't going to agree, purely so they can stab each other in the back a bit easier?"

"I've considered that. I'm going to bring my housecarls with me for the peace council. They'll act as a psychological show of 'neutral' force, to make sure the deep wounds these men of war have inflicted on each other don't lead them to do anything rash."

"Good idea," Arngeir nodded.

* * *

Marcus waited at the foot of the Throat of the World, on the bridge, looking out over the rapids leading down toward Windhelm. He'd sent letters to his Housecarls, in every hold he had them. All 4 of them.

He was thane in a few other holds, but they didn't have associated houses, and thus no housecarls. There was the basic idea that he could potentially build a house on property, and thus he'd get a housecarl from the Jarl's of Falkreath or Morthal, but that was a little ahead of Marcus' current ideas. He didn't have time to build a house. He wouldn't even know where to start.

Marcus leaned on the edge of the stone bridge, looking down at the rushing water. It was soothing. That is, until a salmon leapt outwards and nearly hit him in the face, as it tried to make its way back up the river.

A voice was heard behind him, in a sarcastic tone. "The World's best hope for survival, startled by a fish..."

Marcus turned, and saw Argis standing there. He rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yeah well, my job is to fight Dragons, not fish."

"Just as well."

Argis and Marcus walked forward, and grasped each other's hands in a firm shake. Argis' large, meaty hands almost enveloped Marcus'.

"Any others here yet?" Argis asked.

"No," Marcus shook his head, "though if you managed to come from Markarth, they shouldn't be far behind."

The two men stayed on the bridge, chatting about recent skirmishes, or what they thought the peace talks might entail. Argis was of the opinion that they'd be lucky to get a conversation civil enough to be deemed as a 'talk'. Marcus was inclined to agree.

"We've gotta try," Marcus said, sighing. "Trouble is, they won't be there because they want peace, they'll be there because they want the Dragon attacks to stop."

"Bloody typical," Argis muttered. "Imperial idiots and hot-headed Stormcloaks. Sounds so stupid when you think about it. They want the Dragons to stop killing them, so they can devote all their time to waging a war that kills themselves anyway."

"It's a pointless, petty conflict." Marcus said bitterly. "Travel the land enough, and you'll see it's naught more than a bunch of squabbling children with too much power, bickering over minor disagreements."

Argis muttered, "War is a dumbass thing..."

"Damn truth."

An hour later, and Lydia turned up, followed by Jordis and Iona. When they all gathered on the bridge, they began to ask a string of pre-prepared questions. The air seemed somewhat laden with tension, much to Marcus' surprise.

Argis didn't really care about any of it, just sitting over at the first of the 7000 steps, waiting for the other three women to finish interrogating Marcus about the details of his plan, and his fight with Alduin if they didn't already know about it. But underneath their tones, the three female housecarls seemed to be trying to do something else. Trying to prove something.

They kept referring and comparing Marcus' fight with Alduin, and his plan with the peace council to past adventures he'd had with each of them. Almost… parading the achievements they'd made with Marcus, rather than using them as any kind of reference tool to better understand the situation.

"This better not be like the plan you had to bring down the entire skooma ring in Riften, and we both ended up fighting off hoards of addicts and saved each other's life countless times." Iona said, crossing her arms and staring hard at Marcus from underneath her fiery hair.

Marcus frowned in confusion. "What're you on about, Iona? This is nothing like that plan, nor did I say it would be… why bring that up?"

Jordis interrupted. "What about your fight with Alduin? Did he use similar strategies to that Dragon we fought at Skyborn Altar? Where you risked your life to pull me out of the way of it's fire, and told me that you couldn't imagine watching me get hurt?"

"Umm..." Marcus scratched his head, "I mean… a little? How does that -"

"What about when we saw Alduin at Kynesgrove?" Lydia said in a louder tone, cutting him off. "Did Alduin appear the same as when he was there, when we fought against one of his trusted generals and eventually brought it down together through teamwork?"

"As I recall," Marcus said, frowning deeper, "that fight basically involved me jumping off a cli-"

They continued to talk over him, throwing around a veritable storybook of the adventures Marcus had been with them on. Marcus tried to get a word in edgeways, maybe steer the topic back on track, but the conversation didn't really seem to involve him, despite being about him. He didn't understand what was happening. This was all most out of character for his friends.

A little way away, Argis shook his head, and muttered at his feet at the comical nature of the situation. "Oh, for fucks sake..."

The stocky nord stood up, and walked forward, clearing his throat loudly. His voice was a fair bit deeper and louder than Marcus' so it managed to draw the attention of the three women away.

Argis said, "Maybe we should start heading up? Not that I want to interfere in such feather preening, but I'd rather get to High Hrothgar before the warring factions do."

Jordis baulked, "Feather preening?"

Marcus stepped forward eagerly, and coughed quietly. "Um… yes. I agree. 7000 steps takes a while to climb. We'd best get going."

Then he began walking forward, towards the path. Argis followed a moment later. The other three housecarls remained where they were, exchanged a glance, then hurried off after them.

* * *

Marcus sat near a window in High Hrothgar, using the soft white light creeping inside to illuminate the book in front of him. It was the same book he'd gotten off Eorland. He wasn't really reading it, more just thinking about it. With a bit of effort, he'd probably be able to make the ebony mail, but chainmail wasn't really optimal for an entire set of armour. More just the torso, and perhaps underneath other sections. If he was going to use it, he'd like 'plate' style pieces of armour protecting his shoulders, and chest, and other places. But steel would be rather heavy, and probably wouldn't protect him as much as he'd need it to.

This was the same issue outlined in the first few pages. The smith had tried chitin, but it hadn't been resistant enough to withstand the forge heat used to create craft the ebony.

But Marcus had seen a little more of the world than the dwemer smith. In particular, he'd had the fortune, or misfortune, to see one of the world's most threatening foes up close, and know just how resistant that particular foe's bones and scales were…

It was just a working theory. Marcus didn't think any other smiths had even considered using Dragons as a smithing resource. Their bones and scales were only sought after because the things had been gone for several thousand years. He didn't even know if you could smith Dragon bones or scales, if they could even be applied to a set of armour, aside from being strapped on.

Though, Marcus couldn't help but admit… if he did manage to create a set like he was envisioning, it'd look really badass. The large bone plates, underlaid with the dark glimmering of ebony…

"Hey, you ok?"

Marcus jolted, and looked up, seeing Argis standing there.

"Hey," Marcus nodded, "What's up?"

"Everyone's beginning to show up. Didn't want you to miss the start of the festivities."

Marcus smiled, and nodded. "Good point. I'm sure to at least get a few good stories out of this."

"Wouldn't have thought you'd need any more."

Marcus clapped Argis on the shoulder, and walked past him. He'd figured he'd head tot he table and get a seat early, maybe stay out of the talks as much as possible. He wouldn't have really known what to say, other than that everyone was an idiot and they should've done this months ago.

Marcus walked past the entrance hall, and saw that the Blades were there. It was odd, seeing as he hadn't specifically invited them. Still, it might be useful to have them on hand, seeing as how much Esbern knew about the Dragons. Delphine… not so much.

Delphine walked forward. "So… Arngeir, is it? You know why we're here. Are you going to let us in?"

"You were not invited here," Arngeir said firmly. "You are not welcome here."

"We have as much right to be here as you." Delphine said, indignation. "More, actually, since we were the ones that put the Dragonborn on this path."

"Were you now?" Arngeir said, frowning deeply. "The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds..."

Marcus stepped forward, out of the shadows. "I can talk for myself Delphine. Show a little respect, if you will. The Greybeards assisted me before you did, and didn't have me fight a Dragon to prove myself."

Delphine was about to retort, when Esbern stepped in.

"Delphine please, this is no time to relive past grudges." Esbern stepped forward to address the Greybeards. "The matter at hand is urgent, Alduin must be stopped, you wouldn't have called this council if you didn't think so. We know a great deal about the situation, and the threat Alduin poses. You need us here, if the council is to succeed."

Marcus nodded. "I concur."

Arngeir looked at them all, before sighing. "Very well, you may enter."

The Blades walked forward, and went into the next room to the council. Arngeir rubbed his forehead, the old man suddenly looking very tired. He looked over at Marcus.

"Well… here we all are. Take your seat at the council table, Marcus, and we'll see what wisdom we can find in these warriors of Skyrim."

Marcus nodded, and walked after the Blades. He clung to the shadows, skirting around the edge of the room while the attention was on the two remaining Blades. His housecarls gathered near the door, out of the way enough that they'd not draw attention, but close enough to stop anyone who tried to storm out, or lash out at anyone else.

Marcus stepped out of the shadows at the other end of the room, and sat down in his chair, the first to do so. The others hadn't seemed to notice him, which was good. He didn't want to get too involved in such a thing. He didn't consider himself a noble, nor versed in political matters.

Arngeir stepped forward. "Now that everyone is here, take your seats so we can begin."

Everyone except Ulfric and Galmer sat down.

Arngeir went to speak, "I hope we've all come here -"

"No!" Ulfric stepped forward, and pointed at a figure in the Imperial Delegation. "You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos hunter?"

Marcus followed the direction Ulfric was pointing, and got a mild surprise. It was Elenwen. He hadn't seen her on his way in. She looked the same as she had at the party Marcus had crashed, around half a year ago.

Elenwen bristled at Ulfric's words. "I have every right to be at this negotiation. I need to ensure nothing is agreed to that violates the White-Gold Concordat."

Tullius said, "She's part of the Imperial Delegation. You can't dictate who I bring to this council."

"Please!" Arngeir held his hands up to placate the rising tensions. "If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we'll never get anywhere."

Marcus smiled slyly, and rubbed his forehead with his hand, leaning forward in his chair. He knew this would never be easy, but the extent that these people refused to reason with each other was almost farcical.

Arngeir began slowly, "Perhaps this will be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on the matter?"

Marcus looked up, somewhat surprised. Everyone in the room turned to face him. Elenwen's face immediately twisted to one of fury. It seems she hadn't noticed him either.

"Long time, no see Elenwen," Marcus said with a wry grin. "How've you been?"

"Murderer." Elenwen spat back at him, face twisting to one of venomous hate.

"Come now," Marcus gestured open-palmed, "Is that any way to speak to Nirn's last hope?"

Elenwen turned away, and Ulfric stepped closer to Marcus. "The nerve of these Imperial bastards, eh? To think that I would sit at the same table as that… Thalmor bitch. Either she walks, or I do."

Marcus sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "I understand. But as Tullius said, it's not up to us. Besides, I doubt it'll cause any real harm. The only person that actually wants Elenwen to be here, is herself."

Ulfric shifted slightly, "Maybe so, but bringing her here is a provocation. Tullius needs to know I won't be pushed around."

"I think you've already made that abundantly clear, Ulfric," Marcus said, nodding. "But there's little harm. If you let Tullius have his way on this, he'll have to give ground later, too."

"Hmm… seems a mistake, but I'll bow to your judgement on this. But she is to observe, nothing more. We are not negotiating with her, is that clear?."

Elenwen smiled slyly, happy at her little victory. "Why so hostile, Ulfric? After all, it's not the Thalmor who're burning your farms and killing your sons..."

Ulfric stepped forward angrily, and began to shout "You know exactly! – no… not this time." Ulfric calmed down, and walked forward to take a seat.

Marcus looked sideways at Elenwen, frowning at how she'd tried to incite Ulfric into getting angry. "Don't push your luck, Elenwen, or I might decide to pay another visit to your embassy."

The others frowned at this, not understanding the reference, but Elenwen paled slightly, and shut her mouth. The gathered members raised their eyebrows, and muttered to each other, but didn't say anything directly to him.

The negotiations began properly, then. Each party stated clearly that they weren't here to surrender, and only wanted to deal with the Dragon crisis. They each stated in their own ways how the other was wrong, this council wouldn't change that, and justice would soon be served. Marcus expected such a dick-measuring contest, and thus leaned back in his chair and rested his head on his hand for the most part of it.

Arngeir managed to steer the conversation back on track well enough. For a hermit, he seemed to have a fairly decent grasp on controlling debates.

Then Ulfric leaned forward, and placed both hands firmly on the table. "We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to this truce."

There was assembled outrage from the Imperial Delegation. Tullius managed to calm them down, before giving his response.

"Ulfric," he began, "You can't seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. Do you hope to claim in council what you've been unable to take in battle?"

Arngeir said, "I'm sure Jarl Ulfric doesn't expect something for nothing. What would the empire want in return?"

"Wait, general!" Elisif burst out, "You can't seriously intend to just… 'hand over' Markarth to that… murdering traitor!"

Balgruuf affirmed the young lady's words. "Is this how the Empire will repay our loyalty?"

"Enough!" Tullius called out, "Let's be clear. I think this is a waste of time, Ulfric is a traitor, and will die a traitor's death. But at least I will negotiate in good faith." He turned to face Marcus, who'd been keeping quiet up. "Since we're all here at your request, I'd like to hear what you think Markarth is worth."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're going to ask me again? Isn't the point of a delegation to help make your decisions?"

Tullius frowned at Marcus. "Do not jest here, young man. This is a serious matter."

"Oh the return of the Dragons is a serious matter," Marcus said nodding firmly, "Your stupid fucking war isn't."

"Language!" Balgruuf barked, from across the table, seeing Elisif's slightly shocked face at Marcus' language.

"Apologies," Marcus bowed his head at Balgruuf and Elisif. "I guess at least one of us should restrain their personal feelings for this council..." He looked back at Tullius. "Markarth is Skyrim's main source of silver, so I think Riften would be a fair trade."

Tullius thought this over. "Hmm… The Rift would help secure our communication with Cyrodiil, and threaten Ulfric's southern flank… You heard the man, Ulfric. We've made you a fair offer, are you serious about these talks or are you just here to posture?"

Ulfric and Galmer both stood up, clearing agitated. Ulfric turned to face Marcus, disappointment evident on his face. "I expected more from you, Dragonborn. I came here in good faith, and you seem to assist the Empire at every turn. First with Elenwen, now with this. Come on Galmer, it seems you were right about not trusting these Imperials to play fair." The two Stormcloaks went to turn away.

"Hang on a moment," Marcus said, crossing his arms. "I thought I'd made it clear I'm not here to assist anyone. As far as I'm concerned, you're all equally at fault. Still, if it's dissatisfactory to you, what else would you like to 'even out' this truce?"

"Hmmm… Ulfric went over and sat down again. He looked at the General with disdain.

Ulfric said, "You can't just hand me a mug of sheep's piss and tell me it's mead, Tullius. Your offer is far from fair."

"I'm sure you have something in mind."

Galmer nodded, "Damn right we do."

Ulfric said, "You surrender Hjaalmarch to us, and take Idgrod Ravencrone with you. Sorli the Builder will take over as Jarl of Morthal."

Tullius threw his hand up at the ceiling. "Where do these demands stop, Ulfric? Do you expect me to surrender all of Skyrim?"

Ulfric frowned, "It seems I have no choice but to let the Dragonborn decide once more. What say you?"

Marcus thought briefly. "I agree. The Empire should hand over Hjallmarch, but under a condition. Let Jarl Idgrod's family remain in Morthal. It's their home, and they shouldn't be kicked out when they don't detract from the political situation."

Ulfric looked surprised. "You speak for the Empire, now?"

"Not for the Empire, but for a friend. It's a simple request, you lose nothing by agreeing."

"Hmm..." Ulfric looked curious, but didn't pry any further. "Very well."

"No." Tullius spoke out. "This is not fair. Hjallmarch is practically on the doorstep to Solitude. You could practically swim from the edge of the swamp to the Solitude docks. I've a good chance to be recalled if I approve this treaty. I must ask something else."

Galmer muttered under his breath, "Shor's bones, where will these demands end?"

Tullius looked at Ulfric with a frown. "We want compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten."

Legate Rikke nodded firmly, before pointing a finger straight at Ulfric. "There, you slaughtered the very people you claimed to be fighting for! True sons of Skyrim would never do that."

"Imperial lies!" Ulfric shouted. "My men would never stoop to such methods, even in retaliation to any number of the other butcheries you've -"

"Wait, wait, wait." Marcus interjected, and looked across at Tullius, "What the hell are you going on about? A massacre at Karthwasten? I've been to Karthwasten, and aside from a few minor troubles with the Silverblood family, there was no conflict whatsoever. The people there seemed relatively fine."

Tullius snorted, "Oh, so you now you support the Stormcloaks? Did Ulfric's threatening scare you?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. His hand clenched underneath his seat.

Tullius shook his head angrily. "You're all here to blacken the Empire's name, and I'll have no part in it."

Ulfric retorted angrily, "Once again, the words of the Empire are worth nothing!"

The table quickly descended into random shouts and insults, each side of the table shouting obscenely at the other. The greybeards tried to placate them, but the older men couldn't raise their voice loud enough to cut through the angry shouts.

Tullius stood up and shouted at Ulfric, "I'll have you back underneath the headsman's axe before you know it, and there won't be a dragon to save you when I do!"

Ulfric slammed his hands against the table, and shouted back. "You're as deluded as your emperor was when he signed away our freedom to the Thalmor!"

Marcus looked back and forth between the two groups. This was getting out of control. Up the back, he saw his housecarls place their hands on their weapons, reading to restrain anyone if push came to shove. Marcus knew he needed to do something to force these men to stop screaming at each other. On the other side of the table, he saw Esbern stand up and try to call out to them, but he couldn't get anything past the shouts of the angry Jarls and Generals.

The group needed to realize the threat the Dragons posed, and Esbern would most likely be the best person to tell them, since out of all of them, he knew the most. Marcus realized what he needed to do, and stood up out of his seat, and faced the expanse of the room.

Then he breathed in. "Lok… Vah Koor!"

The entire room shook with the force of the Thu'um, the sound of thunder cracking and bouncing off the walls. An instant later, the room was dead silent. Everyone was looking at the Dragonborn with shocked and fearful expressions. Marcus didn't say anything, he just shoved his hand out and pointed at Esbern. Everyone's attention switched to the older man.

Esbern nodded in thanks at Marcus, before addressing the group. "Are you all so blind to our danger, that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit, arguing about… nothing! All while the fate of the land hangs in the balance."

Ulfric looked sideways at Delphine. "Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I'd advise you to tell him to watch his tongue."

Delphine looked at Ulfric with a steely gaze. "He **is** with me, and I'd advise you all to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash."

Esbern walked to the other side of the table, closer to the Imperials. "Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The world eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades. He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred, for even one moment, in the face of this mortal danger?"

There was silence for a moment. Marcus chose to add to Esbern's words.

"Esbern is right, we stand at the precipice," he said, "of complete destruction. You, your soldiers, your vassals, your generals… every single one of them is going to die, if you do not put aside this pathetic tantrum you call a war."

Tullius baulked, "I hardly think -"

"Shut up!" Marcus barked, and the general visibly shrunk into his chair.

Marcus continued, placing both hands on the table and leaning over, his head swiveling back and forth to view those assembled. "There's no middle ground here. There's no 'perhaps' or 'maybe'. If I cannot defeat Alduin, everyone in Tamriel is going to die, Period. There is literally no other way that this will turn out. If you can't agree to a truce, right here and now, you will all die in frost and fire. I'm not willing to let that happen, but for Akatosh's sake, I'm beginning to think you lot are."

Marcus sat down in a heap, offering a few last words to the silent onlookers. "Prove me wrong."

The council was quiet for a few long seconds. Most looked down at their feet, ashamed. Up the back, Marcus could see the faces of his housecarls, shining with pride and admiration.

Elenwen shifted with indignation, "A pretty speech, but what does it have to do with -"

"Shut up!" The words came from both Ulfric and General Tullius. Elenwen looked shocked, but for the second time that day, closed her mouth and didn't say anything further. Ulfric sighed, and sat down again. Tullius did the same.

Ulfric said, "If he's true about the Dragons, we both stand to lose just as much, Tullius. Remember that."

Tullius nodded slowly, "If this truce will put an end to the Dragon menace, we both gain."

Esbern nodded in satisfaction, and sat down. The assembled parties all looked at each other, exchanged a few whispers, and there were a couple nods.

Tullius sighed, "Very well, I don't like the terms, but I think they're as good as we're going to get."

Ulfric concurred, so Arngeir stood up and addressed the everyone. He stated the current terms on the table, and what their application would involve. There was a relatively civil discussion about the replacements for Jarls in Markarth and Riften.

When all quietened down, Arngeir asked both groups, "Well? Are you in agreement on this?"

Ulfric nodded, "The sons of Skyrim will honor their agreement, as long as the Empire honors theirs." He turned to face Elisif. "What of you, Elisif? Are these terms to your liking? Speak up, I'm sure General Tullius is eager to do you bidding..."

Marcus frowned, and clenched his jaw, but didn't say anything. They'd finally agreed on the truce, he couldn't jeopardize that now.

Elisif refused to say anything, instead deferring to General Tullius' judgement of the truce's conditions. There were a few more swapped threats, but agreement had been reached. Ulfric then stood up.

"Come on, Galmar," he said, "We've got a lot of work to do."

After the two men had left, Arngeir ran over the plan regarding the trapping of the Dragon in Dragonsreach. Esbern chimed in and offered his own advice, referencing some of the Blade archived lore he'd discovered at Sky Haven Temple. Apparently a certain 'Odahviing' would be the most suitable target. A younger, more brash Dragon, and a direct lieutenant to Alduin.

"Hmmm… Odahviing..." Marcus muttered, rubbing his chin. He hoped Esbern was right.

The Imperial delegation stood up to leave. Rikke leant down and spoke quietly to Marcus before she left.

"I hope this truce gives you what you need, because it won't last, as much as we might like it to."

"Who knows?" Marcus shrugged hopefully, "Skyrim might grow attached to the peace, and decide to make it less temporary."

"Mmm..." Rikke looked doubtful, then she too left.

Marcus sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He felt more tired than he did after a Dragon fight. He wasn't the right person for this sort of political job, even if he was technically Thane in several holds. He stood up a few minutes later and walked out. His housecarls were gathered in the main entry hall.

"Thanks for coming, everyone," Marcus said to them. "Sorry you had so little to do."

Argis shrugged. "Better to have us here, and not need us, than need us here, and not have us."

Marcus nodded, "Yeah, guess you're right."

Jordis asked, "What're you to do now? Head back to Whiterun… with Lydia?" That last part came with a different tone.

Marcus shook his head, "No, not yet. Balgruuf will take a while to set up the old trap in the keep, and I wanted to use the time to pursue an idea..." He turned to face Lydia. "So yeah, feel free to head back without me, I doubt I'll need anyone for this. I'll just be visiting an orcish settlement to the East, looking for a mine."

Lydia looked somewhat crestfallen. "Sure you don't want to travel together a bit? What were you planning?"

Marcus smiled softly, "Ah… I'd rather wait to see if it works out before I tell any of you. Don't want to get your hopes up for no reason."

They bade each other farewell, and set off down the mountain at different intervals. Marcus went last, wanting to do a little bit of meditating out in the open to calm his frazzled mind.

* * *

Marcus arrived at Whiterun a week later, carrying a heavy sack over his shoulder. He dumped it all at Breezehome, and began to make his way to Dragonsreach. On route, he stumbled across a familiar set of clothes at the market.

"Marcurio?" Marcus said, walking up behind the yellow-robed figure.

The figure turned, and a sly smile broke out on the revealed face. "Marcus! Good to see you, buddy. Heard about all that business with the civil war. Fine work my friend, very fine work."

Marcus shrugged, "Well, it wasn't just me..."

Marcurio smiled, "Ever modest, huh? Would've thought you'd gain a bit of bravado after fighting so many Dragons."

"Who, me? Not on your life."

They shook each others hand, and chatted a little more. Marcurio had been hired to help escort a wealthy merchant to Whiterun, and was now basically seeing the sights of the city. Which weren't many, to be honest. Marcus filled the mercenary in on the happenings of the council, and the plan involving the trapping of the Dragon.

"You're going to lure a Dragon into the keep?" Marcurio looked stunned. "Why can't you just lure him into a deserted field?"

Marcus scratched his head guiltily, "Well, Dragonsreach has it's own specially made Dragon trap. I figured that'd make it easier."

"Hmm..." Marcurio looked doubtful. "Not going to lie, that sounds like a pretty stupid idea. But… if you pull it off, it'd make a really epic story… one that I might like to have myself mentioned in..."

Marcus said, "What, you going to tag along?"

"Yeah," the mage nodded.

"Just so you get mentioned in some shitty ballad 20 years from now?"

"Precisely. I want my share of your fame and glory."

Marcus folded his arms across his chest, leaning on his back foot, "I think your priorities are a little mixed up here. Survival should be at the top of your list, and generally that coincides with staying far away from Dragons."

"We won't have to kill it, and there'll be a lot of guardsmen with us as well. I think this'll be simpler than most Dragon fights."

Marcus sighed, "Fine, whatever. Not as if you'll listen to me anyway."

"Well, not unless you pay me."

They began to walk up to Dragonsreach, where Lydia was probably already waiting, helping out with the preparations.

"How's Illia?" Marcus asked as they walked, "I know she'd headed to Riften, but I haven't heard from her."

Marcurio explained, "She's at the Temple of Mara, helps out around there. They keep her pretty busy from what I hear, though I think she's enjoying herself."

"Sounds good."

They chatted a little more as they made their way up to the keep. Marcus couldn't help but feel a small pang of anxiety as he wondered whether what he was currently doing was the best path. It was the only solution he knew of at the moment, but that didn't mean it was the best one possible. Would the risk of luring a dragon into the city outweigh the risk of letting Alduin gather any more strength?

Once again, Marcus presented himself with questions he didn't know the answer to.

* * *

With a resounding clang, and a crunch, the huge wooden trap fell down on Odahviing, and locked itself in place. The chains tightened, and the huge red Dragon was caught. He roared in anger, but found that the tightness of the bars meant he couldn't breath fire any longer, much to Marcus' relief. It had all gone better than he'd anticipated, to be honest.

Seeing the colour of the Whiterun guardsmen's armour so close to Dragonfire brought back memories of the Western Watchtower, but the fight itself took only a few minutes, with minimal loss of life. Only one man had died, and that had been at the start, where Odahviing surprised the group and tossed one of the archers off the roof. For the most part, everyone had retreated inside the keep once the Dragon showed up, allowing Marcus to use Dragonrend to bring the beast down onto the balcony, before following the others and drawing the beast inside.

So now, the large Dragon was stationary, and couldn't fight nor escape. Marcus felt pleased.

"I'm not going to lie," Marcurio said to Lydia nearby, "I was kind of expecting more of a fight. I didn't even get a chance to land a hit."

Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. "If you want to make yourself useful, you can help the others put out the fire on the roof."

"Hmm… I think I'd rather stick around. It'll be interesting to witness an actual conversation between Dragonborn and Dragon."

Lydia said nothing, her silence voicing her agreement.

Marcus walked forward to talk to Odahviing. Everyone else remained far back, at least 10 metres away. No-one else felt comfortable getting within striking distance of the beast, restrained or not.

Odahviing eyed Marcus closely. The young man didn't shift under the red wyrm's gaze.

"Zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this… humilating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm?" The Dragon tilted his head sideways a fraction. "No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

 _Want is a strong word…_ Marcus thought to himself, but he didn't voice such thoughts. Now was not the time to elaborate on his misgivings about his own destiny.

"Yes," Marcus said, nodding. "I want to know where he's hiding himself."

The red Dragon almost chuckled. "Rinik vazah. An apt phrase. One of the reasons I came to your call was to test your Thu'um myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um is truly the strongest."

"Why not challenge him?" Marcus asked, "Surely there's no rule against it?"

Odahviing replied, "It is among ourselves. Mu ni meyye. None are yet ready to openly defy him."

"So where is he?"

Odahviing bowed his head, "Unslaad krosis, I digress. He was travelled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the souls of mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards. His door is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the east mountains." The Dragon eyed Marcus cautiously, "Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshaled there."

"Of course..." Marcus sighed. It wouldn't be a job for him if it was easy, would it? "Do you know specifics about the forces he has there?"

Odahviing shook his head. There was a moment of silence, before the Dragon spoke again. "Zu'u lost ofan hin laan… Now that I have answered your question, will you allow me to go free?"

Marcus thought for a moment. "No… not yet. Not until I've defeated Alduin..." He added quietly, "If that's even possible..."

Odahviing nodded, "Ah, well. Then… there is one detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, 'You're keeping things from me? Not a great idea, given your position."

"Krosis… I offer this: You have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. I could fly you there, but... not while imprisoned like this…?"

The unspoken question hung in the air. Marcus felt that after all he went through to imprison the Dragon, he didn't want to let him out so soon. Plus, the ratio of Dragons he could trust, to Dragons he couldn't was heavily skewed in one direction.

Marcus looked over his shoulder, seeing everyone gathered watching him intensely, waiting for him to say something next. Marcus felt a little bit of nerves, unconsciously. He hated being the centre of attention.

"How do I know I can trust you're telling me the truth?"

"Ahraan. You wound me, Dovahkiin. I am no liar. Go and see for yourself, I will still be here… unless Alduin returns before you do."

Marcus bit his lip, and looked at the ground. He couldn't delay that much. As much as he'd like to go wander around the eastern mountains and test the authenticity of Odahviing's words, he couldn't afford to let Alduin regain anymore strength. But at the same time, he didn't trust Odahviing. Not entirely, anyway.

Marcus closed, his eyes, and nodded slowly, before looking up and matching Odahviing's gaze. "Fine. I'll set you free, if you promise to take me to Skuldafn."

There was assorted gasps and 'what' noises from behind him.

"Onikaan koraav gein miraad." Odahviing nodded in acknowledgement. "It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. You can trust me, Dovahkiin. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proved himself unworthy to rule, I go my own way now. When you free me, I will carry you to Skuldafn."

Marcus nodded, silently praying he was making the right choice. He thought about leaving now, but decided immedietly against it. There was a multitude of things he needed to do first. "Will you be content to remain here, in this trap, until I am ready?"

Odahviing eyed Marcus carefully. "Content? No. But I will not hold it against you. I have done little to earn such comforts from your kind. Zu'u mindok faaz. I have spent several era as a pile of bones, a short while in a… horvut... won't make a difference."

"Ok..." Marcus sighed, and looked behind Odahviing to the sky behind him. It was around midday. A lot needed to get done. He turned to face Jarl Balgruuf. "You can recall your men, and tell the citizens to leave their homes. I don't think this Dragon will need much supervision."

"Hmmm..." Balgruuf looked unconvinced. "You sure about that?"

"Not very, but more so than I have been about pretty much everything else I've done this last week."

Balgruuf sighed, "You sure know how to put an old man's mind to rest."

Several guardsmen left. Marcus spoke with the Dragon a little more about Skuldafn, and Alduin's position in Sovngarde. Odahviing knew previous little, but more than he did. After a while, Marcus went to leave, to get some of his affairs in order, but Lydia brushed past him to speak to the Dragon.

She looked Odahviing in the eyes, and asked him in a firm tone, "Will you be able to carry two people to Skuldafn?"

Odahviing regarded her cooly. If he had eyebrows, he probably would've raised them. Marcurio certainly did.

Odahviing said, "You should not wish to venture to Alduin's last bastion, unless you wish to die..."

"I wish to help Marcus," she said resolutely, "And I will, regardless of what that brings for me."

The dragon tilted his head sideways, studying the young Nord woman before him. "I could perhaps carry two people… in theory."

Lydia nodded, in thanks, and her posture visibly relaxed. Marcus couldn't understand why Lydia wanted to do this with him so badly. Would it even be possible for someone who wasn't a Dragon, or of the Dragonblood, to pass through the portal to Sovngarde? He wouldn't be surprised if he actually had to 'die' in some sense, to get to use the portal. It'd fit the poetic notion of how every other mortal had to die to travel to the alternate dimension.

He shook his head to clear it, and walked towards the exit to the balcony. First things first, he needed to take care of a few things first, including a certain smithing project…

* * *

It was well after nightfall by the time Marcus finished at the skyforge. His work lay there in front of him, in all its finished glory. He allowed himself the self-indulgent thought that he'd truly outdone himself on this one. All those hours slaving away at the forge, doing lessons with Eorland, and carefully studying the various types of metals he'd found in caves and dungeons, had paid off. He wished a silent prayer of thanks to the Dwemer smith who'd made his job so much easier, wherever he was.

Marcus sighed, and sat down on the ground, allowing himself a brief moment of respite for the first time in hours. He ran his eyes over the armour and weapons. The dark metal blended perfectly with the dark white-ish colour of the bone. He wasn't entirely done with it yet, though. Crafting the armour was only half the work, in theory. His body had contributed to the crafting process, so now his mind must too.

* * *

Marcus laid his armour on the table in Farengar's study. He'd enchant it later, but first he wanted to ask Odahviing a couple questions about Skuldafn, and Alduin. He headed up to the balcony, to be greeted by the sound of a very disgruntled Dragon.

"Begone mage! Do not make me test my promise to the Dovahkiin."

Farengar's voice drifted through the door, "I assure you, you won't even notice me. Most of these are hardly painful at all to a large dragon such as yourself."

 _What is that fool doing,_ Marcus thought, walking through the door.

Farengar kneeling behind Odahviing, examining the large Dragon's tail. "Surely you won't miss a few scales, or a small amount of blood..."

Odahviing wrenched his head around, trying to see what the mage was doing behind him. "Joor mey! What are you doing back there?!"

"Farengar!" Marcus shouted, running over and grabbing the mage and hurling him back. "Are you fucking insane? Do you understand how easily this Dragon could incinerate each and every one of us?"

"But I..." Farengar protested.

"I don't want to hear it..." Marcus held up a hand, "Just… go to bed. Or something. I need to talk to Odahviing alone."

Farengar nodded glumly, and walked out of the keep. Marcus nodded to a few nearby guardsmen, and they left too, leaving Marcus and the red dragon alone.

"Hi lost laan?" Odahviing asked, "You have more questions?"

Marcus nodded, before walking over and sitting down on the ground, leaning his back against a wooden beam.

"How much resistance will I have to face at Skuldafn?"

"More than you've ever faced before. Beyond that, I do not know."

Marcus considered this for a moment. "You were the right-hand of Alduin for a long time… Do… do you personally, honestly, think I'm able to do this? Do you think I can kill Alduin?"

Odahviing looked at the young man for a moment. "On first thought, no. But… Hin vod tinvaak vur. Your history speaks for itself. You stand a better chance than anyone."

"Will I survive this?"

Odahviing looked down at the ground. "You chances are… ni kul. Not good. I am uncertain if mortals can even leave Sovngarde, as Alduin does."

Marcus nodded slowly. He'd anticipated as much. If it was so easy to come and go from Sovngarde, or even possible, it'd probably have been done before now. The fight with Alduin had a good chance of killing him, regardless of whether or not Alduin perished as well.

Marcus was resigned to his fate. A part of him always felt, or knew, he'd never be getting out of this alive. He didn't even know what he'd do, once Alduin was dead. He wouldn't really have much of a purpose remaining. One way or another, he'd be confined to Sovngarde. He just had to make sure Alduin never left it either.

Marcus thanked the Dragon, and called the guards back in. He got them to raise the trap, seeing as he no longer felt that Odahviing needed to be kept constrained. He wasn't going anywhere, and it'd help in case Farengar tried to sneak back in.

Then Marcus headed back down to Farengar's study. He spied the mage eying the curious set of armour on his table.

"Ah, Marcus," the wizard looked up as he entered. "I apologize for… my misbehavior in front of the Dragon."

"It isn't me you should apologize to," Marcus replied, walking over and carrying the gear to the enchanting table, "Just be careful if you decide to go back up there and ask him for forgiveness. He's no longer chained up."

"Oh, I see…"

Marcus sighed, and leaned over the enchanting table. "You may want to go somewhere else for the time being, though. This room's going to be filled with so much magicka it'll look like it's underwater."

* * *

Once Marcus finished with his enchanting, he felt very drained. It had taken a lot of concentration. It was now around midnight, but he still had one more thing to take care of. He collected his new gear, all buzzing with magical enchantments, and placed it aside. Then he began to write some letters. One to each guild, and friend. He had a lot of titles to hand down.

Writing Lydia's letter was the hardest, because she'd been with him longer than anyone else. And in a sense, telling her these last few words via parchment was somewhat of a betrayal, especially considering he was able to tell her in person. But… Marcus just didn't feel he had the strength to look her in the eyes, and say he was going to be leaving forever.

An hour later, with the business of letters out of the way, he headed down to Breezehome, and saw Marcurio sitting on a bench underneath the Gildergreen. The mercenary mage looked, reflective, which was certainly an odd look for him.

"Can't sleep?" Marcus asked.

Marcurio shook his head. "Can't stop thinking about Alduin, and you. Putting aside how cool it'd be to ride a Dragon, have you considered how insane it all sounds? I mean, going to Sovngarde to fight Alduin, the prophesied 'destroyer of worlds'. It… I'm surprised you can manage the pressure."

Marcus put his sack of stuff down, and sat beside the man, sighing heavily. "Well… I've had a lot of time to get used to the concept. It wasn't always like this though, once upon a time thinking about it would give me a panic attack."

"I guess that's more of a normal reaction." Marcurio nodded with a half-smile on his face. "I also wanted to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"The date. It's the 16th of Last Seed."

Marcus' eyes widened in shock, and looked down at the ground. He'd woken up in the back of the carriage at Helgen on the 17th of Last Seed. Tomorrow, the day he'd go to Skuldafn and fight Alduin, would be exactly one year from when he was first pushed down this path of 'destiny'.

Marcus breathed out, "Woah… there's no way that can be a coincidence."

"I didn't think so either. Seems the Gods have a mind for poetic timing."

They lapsed into silence for a minute, with nothing but the gentle breeze rustling the bright new leaves of the young tree above them.

"Give it to me straight, Marcus." Marcurio said suddenly, "Is this the sort of thing you'll be coming back from?"

Marcus looked up at the face of the mercenary, and chewed his lip. Then he sighed, and shook his head. "Probably not, no."

"I see." Marcurio nodded solemnly. "Is… is there anything you'd like me to do?"

Marcus considered the offer. "Just… take these letters to Brynjolf. He'll ensure the contents get to their recipients." Marcus handed over the satchel of letters. He trusted the Guild's contacts to get them where they needed to go.

"Very well," Marcurio nodded, and stood up. He reached over and patted Marcus on the shoulder. "You get some sleep, ok? You've got a lot ahead of you tomorrow." Then he walked off, leaving Marcus alone to his thoughts.

Realizing how shitty his thoughts were for company, Marcus stood up and walked to Breezehome. As he opened the door, he saw Lydia asleep in a chair beside the fire. She instantly woke up when she heard him enter.

She asked, "Finally done with everything?"

Marcus nodded, "Yeah… for the most part. I'm pretty tired, so I'll just head to bed, if you don't mind..." He just wanted to get some rest, looking at Lydia's beautiful face almost tore him in two.

"I understand, but…" She stood up and walked over to him, looking at his chest and touching his shoulder gently. "You'll… wake me up before you get up, won't you?"

Marcus looked into her eyes, staring into those two blue orbs that he'd almost lost himself in when he first met her. What did he ever do to deserve a friend like her?

"I will," Marcus lied.

Then he brushed past her and headed upstairs.

* * *

Marcus awoke before dawn. He cast 'muffle' to ensure his movements didn't wake Lydia, and got dressed. He donned his new armour for the first time, and felt glad at how comfortable it was. It was heavier than he'd like, but much lighter than it would've been had he not poured hours of magical enchantments into it to ensure it wasn't as heavy as it should be, among other things.

He headed downstairs, and looked at the closed door to Lydia's room. He reached down and placed a letter just at the foot of the door. Then, before his courage failed completely, he turned and headed out into the brisk, dark morning.

* * *

Lydia woke up just after dawn, the soft glow of early morning light creeping in through her window. As she stepped out of her room, her foot landed on something strange. A letter. Kneeling down, she picked it up and opened it. She recognized the handwriting. With each word that she read, her heart rate sped up, and her eyes began to widen.

 _Dearest Lydia,_

 _I hope you'll forgive me for telling you these last words in a letter, but I find I do not have the strength to tell you them in person. The fact of the matter is, you won't be going to Skuldafn with me._

 _I wish I could say that it's because facing Alduin is my destiny alone, or that Odahviing feels two people would be too much, but it's neither of those reasons. The truth is, I don't want you to die. You've been beside me longer than anyone, and have proven yourself to be one of the best people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. You deserve a full life, and that won't happen if you follow me into Alduin's maw. While I can live with my own death, (or rather I won't have to) I can't live with yours._

 _I leave you the house, and everything in it. Hopefully it'll be enough to give you a head-start in any aspect of life you wish to pursue. Gods know you've earned that much._

 _Live well, Lydia._

 _\- Your friendly neighborhood Dragonborn, Marcus._

Lydia held the letter in shaking hands, as she read the last few words. An instant later, she dropped it and sprinted out of the house, not even bothering to put on shoes. There were few people out this early, so no-one stopped the desperate woman as she ran bare-foot toward the keep.

* * *

Marcus emerged onto the balcony of Dragonsreach. The only people there were Jarl Balgruuf, Irileth, and a few guardsmen. Plus Odahviing. Every person turned to see the figure emerge through the door, and most of them almost fell backwards in shock.

They saw a figure of bone and metal, standing over 6 feet tall, carrying a longsword of bone, and a dagger of the same material. There were large plates of what could only be recognized as Dragonbone, and Dragonscales, placed all over his body, reinforced and edged with strips of ebony. Underneath these plates, and in the places where they couldn't fit, was a glimmering mail of ebony. His helm was large, almost Dragon-shaped. It had two horns protruding upward, and a space where the mouth would've been shown, covered with more ebony mail. The only part of his body that was visible, were his eyes. Two orbs of sparkling bright hazel.

He walked forward, ignoring the looks everyone was giving him. Odahviing watched the Dragonborn approach, from the edge of the balcony. Marcus continued walking, until he stood at the very edge, looking out over Skyrim. He didn't say anything, he just stood there. He looked out over the rolling mountains, glittering with the bright light from the dawn that had just broken. The clouds had been filled with golden light, and the plains sparkled as the dew caught the sun's rays.

No-one said anything. They just allowed the young, 22-year old man to appreciate the last sunrise he'd ever see.

A minute later, Marcus turned to face Odahviing. "Time to finish this."

Odahviing bowed his head, low enough for Marcus to climb on. "Amativ! My bo kotin stinselak."

Marcus stole one last glance at the vista, then walked toward the Dragon.

* * *

Lydia's bare feet slapped against the stone steps leading up to Dragonsreach. Her heart pounded, and her eyes slowly began to fill with tears. It didn't matter if she couldn't go with him, she had to see him before he left. She had to tell him. She had to speak to him one last time, tell him how she felt, what she thought of him, how much he meant... She had to see him, hold him close, stare into those burning bright eyes, one last time.

She needed to.

The burst through the door to the keep, sprinting forward. In her frantic dash, she stumbled on the stairs leading to the balcony, grazing her knees. She didn't care. She kept going. She pushed past any guards, and slammed into the heavy wooden door of the balcony, knocking it open.

Lydia sprinted out into the open, eyes darting side to side to see any trace of Marcus. As she made it to the edge, she saw that there was nothing, just Balgruuf, Irileth, and a few guards.

They hardly even noticed her, their eyes solely fixed on a dark red spot in the distance, flying across the horizon…

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter was all over the place. Lots of line breaks. Hope you don't mind too much. Also almost exclusively dialogue and character interactions too. It'll be much different to the following chapter, which will be mostly combat. In case you hadn't guessed, the armour Marcus now has is the Dragonbone Ebonsteel set. The basic Dragonplate variation, if you were curious.**

 **Next chapter is going to take me a while. It'll most likely be around the same length as this one, maybe longer. I'll want to do this properly, and give the main quest a proper send-off, so expect a writing time of about 2 weeks. I might take a bit of inspiration from the mod 'World Eater Beater' too.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Notes: *Cracks knuckles* Time to finish this.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 33 – A Day of Fate and Awe

Odahviing landed with a heavy thud, before lowering his head and allowing Marcus to climb off. The figure of bone and metal slid off the scaly dragon's neck, and landed on the snowy ground with a heavy crunch. Marcus straightened up, and looked at Skuldafn. It was a large nordic structure, with various battlements and gates leading up to a central structure. Even from his semi-distant position, Marcus could see several Dragons resting atop archways, and draugr patrolling everywhere.

Odahviing looked down at him. "This is as far as I can take you. Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return, or Alduin's."

Marcus replied evenly. "You mightn't get either."

"Hmmm… Perhaps."

Then Odahviing launched himself upwards, his heavy wings causing flurries of snow to swirl around Marcus. The young man took a few steps forward. Only a small bridge separated where he'd been dropped off, and the first section of Skuldafn. On the other side, he could see several draugr already wielding bows and brandishing weapons. A dark green Dragon sat atop a tall archway near to these draugr, looking across at him.

Everything there knew Marcus had arrived. No doubt they'd been prepared before Odahviing even showed up, and the large red Dragon hadn't exactly been subtle in his approach. Not that it mattered, of course. Marcus wasn't feeling particularly stealthy.

He took a few more steps forward, until he was at the very edge of the bridge, at the cusp of the archer's range. He closed his eyes. Marcus felt… warm. His body filled with the same feeling you get just after a good stretch, like his muscles were soaked in some kind of energizing liquid. Like skooma, probably.

Whether it was from the wide variety of enchantments he'd placed on his armour, or because he was full of nervous anticipation energy, or because the Gods had bestowed upon him some kind of final wind, he didn't know. Perhaps all three.

Despite his situation, and for perhaps the first time in a long while, Marcus didn't feel scared. He stood on the razor's edge of the single most dangerous challenge he's ever had to face, about to leap off that same edge into a non-stop fight to the death.

And by 'to the death', meaning that he'd probably only stop when he was dead.

But if anything, Marcus felt… clarity. There was no more conflict in his mind, no more second-guessing. His path was finally simple. There was nothing else left in his life, but this final trial. His titles had been handed down, his properties and belongings were passed on, his goodbyes were spoken, and his fighting preparations had been made. His only possessions were the weapons by his side, and the armour on his back. And for what he had left to do, that was all he needed.

They say never to pick a fight with a man who has nothing left to lose, and Marcus was as close to that as he'd ever been. He'd left behind his friends, his possessions, and every semblance of whatever common sense he'd retained. Marcus truly believed he was a dead man walking, regardless of whether Alduin died with him or not. It was just… a matter of time, really. Plus, a little part of him knew that he was destined to face Alduin one last time, so whatever fights he'd encounter before then were just… 'filler'.

That said, he wasn't about to let his guard down, or make it easy for Alduin's underlings.

Marcus opened his eyes, fixing them on the dark, hostile shapes of Skuldafn. He swallowed hard, and exhaled softly, telling himself in a calm mental voice, _I will make this a day the Gods will remember._

Then he began to run.

The draugr on the other side of the bridge snarled, and nocked arrows to bows, as well as charging frost spells in their hands, glad their prey had finally decided to charge into the bear's mouth. Marcus' eyes narrowed, and after a moment's concentration and a minor request to Nocturnal, he vanished.

The Draugr froze, and hesitated, no longer seeing the quarry. About 10 seconds passed of them warily checking their surroundings, when one of the draugr wights with a bow, had its head separated from its shoulders with a sick crunch.

Marcus appeared a fraction of a second later, standing in the middle of the group of draugr, holding his sword by his side. The undead monsters had enough time to snarl, and raise their weapons once more, before Marcus reached toward the sky, channeling magicka into the palm of his left hand, before punching downward at the ground and blasting a high explosive fireball directly at his feet.

Flames washed outwards, latching onto the 4 draugr that surrounded him, and making them stagger back. Marcus reached down and pulled out his dagger in his left hand, then flung himself at the burning undead. The first was brought down by a sideways slash with his sword, the razor sharp Dragonbone slicing through the thin, rusted metal chainmail and almost cleaving the stunned draugr in two.

The next draugr, a deathlord, rushed at Marcus with an axe. He raised his sword up and parried the axe to the side, before darting forward and burying his dagger into a gap in the deathlord's armour. The deathlord snarled at the haunting draconic helmet in front of it, and attempted to hit his ribs with its axe, but Marcus pulled out his dagger and dodged backwards to avoid it. The draugr attempted to close the distance, his other two compatriots finally moving into engage as well, but didn't get the chance.

"Yol, Tor Shul!"

The circle of fire rushed toward the deathlord, and the draugr immediately behind him, engulfing them both in fire. They crumpled to the ground.

The last undead managed to land an overhead swing with his battleaxe, the blade striking Marcus near his collarbone, directly on the large Dragonbone pauldron. The force pushed Marcus back a little, but aside from a minor scratch, it did nothing else.

Marcus tauntingly cocked his head to the side at the draugr scourge in front of him, who promptly snarled and raised its arms again for another attack. It never got the chance. Marcus darted to the side, and swung his sword upwards at the same time the scourge brought its axe down. With a smack, the axehead was severed from the rest of the handle, and the scourge staggered backwards. It raised its other hand to unleash a volley of frost, but only got off a minor blast before it too was cut down amidst a flurry of blows.

Marcus breathed out, before turning to face the rest of Skuldafn. A brief roar resonated throughout the valley, and the green Dragon emerged from behind the spires of the structure to land on top of an archway a good 50 metres away. It looked at Marcus with a hard stare.

"Alduin thur fen kos vokrii!"

Marcus didn't respond, but simply clashed his sword and dagger over his head. The sound of Dragonbones cracking together proved a decent method of infuriating the Dragon. With another roar, it leapt off the archway toward the solitary figure. Marcus took a breath and shouted at the approaching behemoth.

"Joor, Zah Frul!"

The energy slammed into the dragon, causing it to strain at the air, before coming crashing down, slamming into the hard stone floor next to Marcus. He clutched his weapons firmly, and ran at it as it tried to stand up. The dragon got onto its legs once more, and began to turn to face the approaching figure. Marcus dropped to his knees, the bone armor grating against the stone floor as he slid along. As he passed underneath the Dragon's neck, he planted his feet against the ground, and thrust upwards with his sword. With considerable strength on Marcus' part, the Dragonbone blade cut through the thinner scales on the underside of the Dragon's neck, and buried deep into the flesh underneath.

Black blood spurted onto Marcus' helmet and armour, but none managed to get into the thin holes that showed his eyes. The Dragon roared in pain, and tossed its head to the side, which knocked Marcus out from underneath it. He tumbled across the ground and came to a halt 5 metres from the Dragon, his sword clattering to a stop a further 5 metres away. The Dragon shuddered, and shifted itself to face Marcus front on. It limped forward a pace, blood dripping off the wound in its neck. He stood up, and sheathed his dagger, before eyeing his sword sitting on the ground a short space away.

The Dragon breathed in, and unleashed a blast of frost at him, blanketing the area Marcus stood in the freezing white death. Marcus held his left hand out in front of him, casting a ward spell. Small pieces of frost and icy needles managed to get around the ward spell, but did minimal damage against the reinforced and enchanted armour.

With his other free hand, Marcus reached out and concentrated, fixing his eyes on the blurry image of his sword. Arm outstretched at the stationary weapon, an orange magic began to swirl in the palm of his hand, until the weapon began to shift. A second later, the weapon jumped up at flew through the air before slamming into Marcus' hand.

Wrapping his fingers around the hilt, Marcus cancelled the ward in his hand, while simultaneously shouting.

"Wuld!"

He flew across the space between himself and the Dragon, and lashed out as soon as he stopped moving. Marcus' blade slashed across the Dragon's face, cutting deeply across its head and splitting its left eye open. The beast let out a savage groan of agony, quickly silenced when Marcus stuffed a fireball into its open mouth with his other hand. It's head nearly exploded, and it reared backward, standing on its hind legs with its wings flailing wildly. Marcus gripped his sword in both hands, then flung it overhead at the exposed Dragon's chin. The blade struck true, and buried itself into the unprotected section of its skull. Above the first vertebrae, but underneath the jaw bone. It carved through the scales, and brought the beast down for good.

With a crash, the green dragon hit the ground. Marcus walked over, and wrenched his sword out of its bloody skull as the air around it began to glow, causing another spurt of black blood to cover his equipment. Probably as easy as Dragon fights came, though Marcus was certain he could expect stronger Dragons the further through Skuldafn he progressed.

As he felt the rush of heat from absorbing its soul, Marcus felt a token more confident. He felt filled with grim satisfaction, proud of how well he was handling this final aspect of his life.

There were no further immediate threats, so Marcus allowed himself a few minutes rest to regenerate his magicka. He had no wounds he considered worthy of healing.

He then turned and ran up a set of stairs on the other side of the platform, and underneath the archway, to see another three draugr. Two scourges and one deathlord. The three undead monsters turned to face him, snarling and cursing him in Dovahzul.

The deathlord was the first to act, shouting a ring of frost breath at him, while the furthest scourge conjured a frost atronach, and the second launched an icy spear. Not bothering to slow down, Marcus flung his dagger at the second one in line, then raised a ward spell in his left hand, still running.

The deathlord was closest. Marcus bent over to the left and the deathlord's ebony sword sailed just over his right shoulder. Marcus then lashed downward with his sword and sliced open the back of its leg. Continuing his sword's momentum and direction, Marcus danced forward and spun around to the right, bringing the dragonbone blade up to rake across the chest of the scourge that had his dagger buried in its head. The scourge staggered backwards, giving Marcus a chance to run forward, and rip his dagger out of its face, before pushing it aside and diving underneath the wide legs of the frost atronach.

As he emerged onto the other side of the atronach, he caught a sword thrust directly in the chest. It ran along the length of his Dragonbone breastplates, before slipping into a gap in the armor and hitting the ebony mail underneath. No connection with flesh, but a there would be a decent bruise there tomorrow.

Not that Marcus felt he had to worry about that. He probably wouldn't be alive come tomorrow.

He slashed the draugr scourge multiple times across the face with lightning quick strokes until it's head was a tattered mess and it fell down, dead.

He heard the atronach magically dissipate after its conjurer died, so Marcus turned around to face the remaining two draugr, who were recovering from his first attacks. He tossed both his weapons into the air, then splayed both hands open at the two shambling corpses and unleashed a dual casted bolt of chain lightning at them. The magic disintegrated the scourge, but left the deathlord standing, albeit weakened.

Marcus frowned, and fired another dual cast lightning bolt at it. That seemed to be enough to cause it to fall over, dead. His dragonbone weapons hit the ground beside him, and made Marcus slightly annoyed. He wanted to catch them, and look cool. He'd have to throw them up higher next time, if there was a next time.

Marcus was beginning to feel a little tired, but forced himself to keep going.

 _You can rest when you're dead,_ he told himself.

Marcus pushed forward, heading through several gateways and fighting a few alone draugr, as well as another Dragon in towers and the surrounding platforms, until he came to the huge set of stairs leading to the entrance to Skuldafn temple. There were four draugr deathlords guarding it. Two with bows, and two with ebony battleaxes. They stood at the top of the stairs, arrows nocked and axes brandished. Marcus stood there, just underneath the arch of a gateway, replicating their stares. He briefly wondered what would happen if he just stood there forever, whether they'd come down and engage him.

But regardless, Marcus didn't have the patience to wait and find out, so at a run, he approached the draugr.

The first two fired their bows, Marcus dodged to the left, one arrow missing him completely and the other deflecting off the large Dragonbone plate on his chest. Marcus raised his left hand and conjured a frost atronach behind the archers, before focusing on the two with the axes.

They moved down the stairs and both swung thundering downward overhead strikes at the same time. Marcus couldn't roll or dodge effectively on the stairs, so instead shouted and turned ethereal for a moment.

"Feim!"

The weapons passed harmlessly through him, and Marcus took the opportunity to jump forward, phasing through the undead creatures and ending up behind them. Then the shout wore off, and Marcus kicked both draugr down the steps with as much strength as he could, one after the other. Not expecting such an attack, the draugr tumbled forward, falling down the length of the stairs towards the bottom, several resounding cracks filling the air as their undead bodies collided with the stone steps again and again.

Then an arrow slammed into Marcus' back, right between the plates of armour that covered his shoulder blades and barely managed to break through the ebony mail underneath. It cut about a centimeter into the flesh on Marcus' back, and made him grunt in pain as he staggered forward.

Reaching around, he ripped out the offending arrow, and turned to face the two archers, who'd evidently dealt with his frost atronach. He tossed aside the arrow, and ran at the deathlords with bows. They each let loose another arrow at him. Marcus dodged to the left, and held his left arm out in front of his face. The first arrow missed him, and the second deflected off his large ebony-reinforced Dragonbone bracer, leaving a minor scratch.

He ran forward, and cut through the hand of the first one, slicing apart the fingers and the bowstring. He pushed that one aside, and thrusted forward with his sword at the neck of the second one. The blade darted forward and sliced open the front half of its throat. Not enough for a decapitation, but enough to stagger it backwards. Marcus twirled around to face the first one, who had recovered from his attack and was moving towards him with its war-axe raised.

Flinging out his left hand, Marcus threw his dagger at its face, and the blade dug itself into the deathlord's eye. Then he ran forward and launched an icy spear into the centre of its chest, launching it backward and killing it.

Then he turned around again to parry away a sword thrust from the second deathlord. It had flaps of dried flesh hanging loosely around its neck, but it was still combat-capable. It kicked Marcus in the chest, then followed up with a swing from its sword at Marcus' head. The sword slammed into the side of the helmet, and filled Marcus' ears with a resounding 'clang' that made his vision blur up and fill his brain with a ringing noise.

Marcus took a few quick steps backward, until his vision cleared a second later. The deathlord was coming in for another swing. He raised his right arm up, using the sword to directly block the strike, then splayed his left hand towards the body of the first dead deathlord. Orange magic swirled in his palm again, and his dagger ripped itself out of the corpse's face and flew into his hand. Marcus then swung his left hand around and stabbed the dagger into the side of the deathlord's helmet with as much strength as he could muster. The mastercrafted dagger sliced through the old metal and stuck itself deep inside the deathlord's head. Marcus followed up with a kick in the chest, pushing the draugr backward a little, before spinning around in a circle and severing the deathlord's head from its already frayed neck.

Marcus grabbed his dagger from the head of the draugr, only to feel a crushing sensation in his lower back. He stumbled forward, falling down and rolling along the stone ground. He ended up on his stomach, and looked up at the cause of the pain. One of the first two draugr deathlords with the axes was there, looking a little battered from its tumble down the stairs, but otherwise fine.

Marcus pushed at the ground, jumping up onto his feet and bringing his sword and dagger up in an 'X' pattern to block another arcing downward strike from the draugr. A loud crash filled the air, and Marcus' arms were pushed down a little.

Moving his right arm to the side, Marcus pushed the heavy axehead away to the right, before stepping forward and stabbing the exposed side of the draugr several times with his dagger in quick succession. The draugr took a shaky step back, so Marcus stepped forward and brought his sword down in a devastating slash, cutting through the flesh at the bottom of its neck, down past its collarbone into the centre of its chest. With a hiss, the light faded from its eyes and it dropped down.

Marcus stepped past it, looking around for the fourth draugr. He spotted it at the bottom of the stairs, with two broken legs. It clutched its axe in one hand, and used the other to try and drag itself up the stairs. It'd managed to get up two, so far.

Marcus sheathed his weapons, and dual-casted an incinerate spell at the prone creature, blasting it to pieces. Then he turned back to face the entrance to Skuldafn temple.

He gave himself another few minutes to regenerate a little magicka, and catch his breath, before heaving open the heavy doors and stepping inside.

* * *

'Strun.'

That's the word Marcus was drawn to. It glowed on the word wall like so many others he'd seen, yet as soon as his fingers brushed the bright text, he knew it was different. He knew it was more powerful than any of his other Thu'um. The child inside him was dying to try it out.

Marcus' armour sported a few more scratches after making his way through the temple, and his muscles were a little more tired, but he was far from 'hurt'. He still felt like he could take on another two dragons and a hoard of Draugr. Hell, he might still have to.

Marcus tested the word in his head. 'Strun' meant 'storm', though Marcus was unsure how that'd translate in a shout. Perhaps it was a lightning version of the fire breath shout? That didn't explain how Marcus felt it was considerably more powerful, though.

In any event, waiting wouldn't do anything at this point, so Marcus channeled some restoration energy through him to chase away a couple aches, then headed up a set of stairs to a large set of doors.

He pushed them open, and saw the exterior of Skuldafn laid out below him, clearly visible in the midday sun. He saw the platforms and gates he'd fought through. It seemed smaller from the top, not doing justice to how much danger had lurked around the stone structures.

A snarl tore Marcus from his self-reflection, and he turned to see 6 draugr of varying types making their way towards him, with a multitude of weapons out.

 _Time to see what this shout does,_ Marcus thought to himself, turning to face the approaching undead, and breathing in deep.

"Strun!"

As soon as he'd said the word, Marcus' vision blurred and his throat was filled with bile, and he was forced to his knees. The same symptoms he always felt when he used too many words of power in rapid succession. Marcus looked up and saw the blurry shapes of the draugr only a few metres away. The shout hadn't seemed to do anything, but make him feel like crap.

He stood up quickly, and moved backward a bit until his vision was fine again, gaining a little distance between himself and the draugr. They weren't approaching too quickly, probably thinking he didn't have anywhere to go, which he didn't.

Then the soft pitter-patter of rain began to fill the air, and a low rumble of thunder was heard. Marcus frowned, it was sunny a few seconds ago, surely?

The first draugr, a scourge, raised it's sword to attack him, and Marcus raised his own to block the attack… that never came.

Instead, Marcus vision turned white from a moment, and a colossal 'crack' noise was heard. When his vision returned, he became acutely aware of a strange ringing noise in his ears. All other sound was muffled. The draugr scourge was on its back, not dead, but smoking badly. The draugr behind them stopped for a moment, and looked up at the heavens.

Marcus did the same, and couldn't help but smile at what he saw. The entire sky had turned into a swirling mass of dark grey clouds, circling the upper level of Skuldafn and spitting out rain, thunder, and lightning.

The sight bolstered his resolve, and with the combined strength of the storm and his own abilities, Marcus fought through the remaining draugr and got to the top of Skuldafn. The storm dissipated after a few minutes, letting the sun shine one the temple once more, and allowing Marcus to see what laid in front of him more clearly.

He didn't really know what he was expecting in terms of the portal. Perhaps something similar to an oblivion gate. What he got, was a gigantic magical vortex in the floor belching magic and radiant light.

In front of this portal, hovering a foot above the ground, was another Dragon priest.

It held its staff out in front of it, and spoke in the same guttural tone all of the lich priest's spoke in.

"Zu'u uth naal thuri dein daar miiraak."

Marcus took a few steps forward, twirling his sword in his hand. He placed his dagger in its sheath. Magic would be more useful in this fight than a second blade.

"My battle with Alduin is destined," Marcus said plainly "You cannot win this fight."

The lich regarded the man with as much seething anger as it's disheveled, faceless body could exhibit. "Sosaal fah hin vothaarn!"

 _Original, as always,_ Marcus thought dryly. Before raising a large ward spell in front of him and sprinting forward.

Nahkriin fired an incinerate spell at Marcus, which slammed into his ward spell and shattered it. Nonetheless, he kept running at the Dragon priest. It snarled at him, and held its staff out in front of it, while curling its left hand, frost flowing between its fingers. Anticipating what was coming, Marcus breathed in deeply.

"Tiid... Klo Ul!"

The word took on an underwater look, as if the air was filled with transparent gel. Time slowed, and the Marcus had an extra 9 seconds to respond to what would happen normally in 1. His throat burned from using another shout so soon after the previous storm one, but he could manage.

An icy spear shot out of the end of Nahkriin's staff, followed shortly after by one from its hand. Marcus focused on the incoming projectile, and jumped at the right moment. He bent his knees, and twisted his body to the side, then did a sort of sideways-front flip, spinning over the first shard of ice. As he landed, he crouched down, allowing the second one to go floating over his head.

Marcus was very close to Nahkriin now, only a few metres away. The Dragon priest had only just seemed to register that he attacks had missed, and raised his staff again, slowly, to attack once more.

Marcus didn't let the lich get the chance, and raised his hand to fire an impact lightning bolt at the lich's right arm. The lightning bolt snaked out from Marcus' hand, the slow time shout actually allowing him to see it travel forward a little before it connected. The lightning hit the undead creature's arm, and rocked it backwards, raising the staff upward and causing the icy spear to go sailing into the sky.

Then the shout wore off, and time sped up instantly. Marcus barreled into Nahkriin and knocked it to the ground. He kicked the staff out of its hands, and proceeded to slash it repeatedly around its head area. The dragon priest managed to get off a close-range fire spell that blasted Marcus' torso. His armour stopped a lot of the potential damage, but the heat still burnt much of the skin underneath. The added pain only served to invigorate Marcus however, tearing the mask off Nahkriin and burying the his sword into the priest's face, promptly splitting its head into two halves. Its hands grasped weakly at Marcus arms, before falling limp.

Marcus stood up and staggered back, clutching his chest. The bone and metal around his front was somewhat burnt, and very hot to the touch. He sheathed his weapons and cast frost cloak in one hand, while channelling healing magic in the other, effectively cooling down his gear and healing the damage.

Once he was no longer in pain, Marcus took a moment to sit down on the stone, breathing heavily. He'd done it. Skuldafn was now empty, save for him. Most of his magicka was depleted, but hopefully he'd get a chance to regenerate a little in Sovngarde.

Marcus exhaled hard, before pulling himself to his feet. He walked to the edge of the roof, right in front of the large portal. It was very bright, almost hurting his eyes if he looked at it too long. Marcus hesitated, feeling a token uncertain in the face of the gravity of what he was about to do. He didn't think he'd ever step foot on Nirn again, after he stepped off the edge…

Marcus turned, and looked up at the sky, with its haphazard blend of clouds and blue sky, with the sun shining down on all of it. The last time he'd ever see the blue of the sky…

Marcus smiled sadly to himself, taking in the sight one last time. It was… peaceful. No sounds of battle or undead monsters, just a quiet, open sky. He hoped the world would take care of itself with him gone. He hoped he left more happy memories than bad ones, but there was no way of knowing. Then, Marcus closed his eyes and nodded to himself. He took a step forward, and fell into the portal.

* * *

Sovngarde. The world of the afterlife for Nords, a veritable paradise in which they can spend an eternity. Marcus looked out at the expanse laid in front of him, and felt… strange. He'd expected more. All he saw was a misty path, with a few taller hills and mountains around the edge. It looked… almost bleak. But that was the ground, the sky was another matter.

'Sky' probably wasn't the right word. Marcus didn't think there actually was a right word to describe the heavens of Sovngarde. It was mesmerizing mass of slowly spinning splendid colours, culminating in a dazzling bright light at the very top. Marcus felt like he could get lost in it for hours, but slowly tore his gaze away. He had a job to do. He had a task that needed finishing. He had a 'destiny' to fulfill, and a date with death shortly after.

Marcus made his way down a path, keeping a close eye on his surroundings. The mist seemed to peel away from him as he approached it, giving him a decent 10 metres to look around himself. The path was curved, and seemed to wind all over the place. Marcus wasn't sure where he was going.

He saw several people wandering around, soldiers mostly, but a few travellers and merchants. They all wore the same fearful expressions, a dreadful mix of terror and hopelessness. They recited the same words. 'Courage is useless' and 'there is no escape' or words of similar meaning. Ominous, for sure. Marcus' confidence began to waver. This was Alduin's work, no doubt.

After a little more walking, Marcus saw a familiar face, and his heart soared.

"Kodlak!" Marcus cried, running over to him and almost wrapping the older man in a hug. "How are you? Are you alright?"

Kodlak didn't answer straight away. He frowned at Marcus, like he could sense the young man's presence, but not really 'notice' it, in a full extent. "When I woke from my cold death," Kodlak began slowly, "my doom was lifted – there stood Shor's Hall, my heart's desire. But now… I wander, weary and lost. Alduin hunts me as we once hunted our prey, a bitter payment for many bloody deeds."

"Kodlak?" Marcus stepped forward and grasped the man by the shoulders. "It's me, Marcus."

Kodlak looked back at him, eyes lacking recognition. "Beware… the World-Eater hides within the mist."

Marcus let go of Kodlak, and left the man alone. Whatever fear-induced ailment had befallen him and the other lost souls of Sovngarde, he wouldn't be able to resolve it until he faced Alduin. Marcus gritted his teeth. If his battle with the World-Eater wasn't personal before, it sure was now. He wouldn't let Kodlak down again.

After a little more tension-laden traversal of the mist, Marcus came to a bridge, leading across a bottomless chasm to a gigantic building. Shor's Hall. It had to be.

The bridge was made of bone, like the spine of some colossal creature, the size of an entire street. In front of it, barring entry across, was a giant man. He stood around 7 feet tall, with a large axe on his back, and pectoral muscles as big as Marcus' head. He wore nothing but a strange metal armour that left most of his chest unprotected. Marcus, even in his full set of armour sculpted from the remains of dead dragons, felt a little intimidated by the man.

The giant of a man stepped forward, addressing Marcus. "What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to the honored dead?"

Marcus drew himself up a little straighter. "Who are you?"

"I am Tsun," the man nodded, "shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcome, well-earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor. Now… who are you?"

Marcus pressed his right hand against his chest, and gave a small bow. "I am Marcus Lavernius… The Last Dragonborn."

"Ah…" Tsun looked at Marcus with a new light. "No shade are you, but living, daring the land of the dead. And Dragonborn in addition… it has been too long since I last faced a doom-driven hero of the Dragon blood."

Marcus asked, "May I enter?"

Tsun looked down at Marcus, and slowly reached for his axe. "Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge until I judge them worthy by the warrior's test."

Marcus nodded. Makes sense. Most nords value honor and prowess in battle above most things. This'd be a worthy test, fighting the behemoth in front of him. Marcus drew his weapons, and waited for Tsun to make the first move.

The servant of Shor took a few steps forward, hefting his axe in his hands. The weapon was as large as Marcus was, and seemed similar to the other ancient nordic axes, except this one had a broader blade and a hammer on the back of the head.

Marcus stood relatively still, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge.

Tsun darted forward, and swiped sideways, at waist height with a blow that could've cut Marcus in half. It made sense that the demigod wasn't concerned with non-lethal blows. If Marcus died, he'd probably be back in about 20 minutes anyway.

Marcus dropped to his knees, and let the axe go sailing over his head. As soon as it was clear, he darted forward with his sword, aiming for the large chest in front of him. The blade struck the flesh, and cut in deep, but Tsun recovered quickly and kicked Marcus in the chest. The force behind the kick was immense, and Marcus got knocked away, landing on his back 2 metres from the warrior.

Tsun reversed his weapon, bringing around the large hammer, and swung a devastating downward strike that probably would've turned Marcus' torso into jelly, had it connected.

Instead, Marcus pushed at the ground with his feet, rolling backwards over his head and ending up on his hands and knees, as the large hammer struck the dirt right in front of him.

Marcus was on his feet in a second, and sprinted at Tsun, using the large axe buried in the ground in front of him as a short ramp to lead toward the giant's head. Marcus pushed off the wooden axe handle, and buried his dagger into the man's neck, running up the man's large body, placing both feet on the his shoulders, and launching himself backwards to gain distance between himself and Tsun before the larger man could grab him.

Marcus hit the ground in a crouched pose, still holding his sword, and looked up at Tsun warily. The large Nord simply smiled, and pulled the dagger out of his neck. There was no wound underneath. The cut on his chest had also faded.

"Shor's favour has found you, Dragonborn." Tsun stepped forward and handed Marcus his dagger. "The Hall of Valor awaits."

Marcus nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief, and began walking across the bridge to the large building in front of him.

* * *

"You sure you don't need any more rest?" Gormlaith asked Marcus, as he was strapping on his swords. "This shouldn't be taken lightly."

"I know," Marcus nodded, "But I don't think any more waiting will do me any good. The anticipation of the culmination of my destiny is… pretty severe. Any longer, and I'll go mad."

Hakon patted Marcus on the shoulder, and looked him in the eyes. "We're with you, whenever you're ready… but you shouldn't make the mistake we did, and rush in without being certain of yourself."

Felldir walked up and nodded in affirmation of Hakon's words. "I agree. You should be sure you're ready or not."

Marcus sighed, and shook his head, before looking at the three heroes. They radiated an aura of skill and hardness. They were the real heroes, and he just felt like some kind of… imposter., surrounded by honor and courage. "No. I'm not ready. But if I waited until I was ready, I'd wait forever."

Marcus pulled on his helmet, and turned to face the doors leading outside the Hall of Valor. "No… this needs to end. No more waiting. No more delays."

The three nordic heroes, and the Dragonborn, turned and walked out the door of the Hall. Marcus led them. He felt… so strange. As soon as he stepped out of the Hall of Valor, his head felt… full. As if he was part dreaming, part intoxicated, and not entirely in control of his own actions. Every step made his heart swell in his chest, and made a little something 'click' in his mind. As he made his way across the whalebone bridge, every step seemed like something he'd done a thousand times before, in a way.

This moment, and the ones that would shortly follow, were undoubtedly destined. That's what Marcus took away from this strange sensation. The gods themselves had engineered his and Alduin's fates to create this moment, and every step made Marcus' soul feel snug in its place in the Universe.

The four warriors made their way across the bridge to the other side. Tsun was nowhere to be seen. They arrayed themselves in a line, across the clearing in front of the Bridge's start. The mist was thicker than it had been before.

Felldir stated, "We cannot fight in this mist."

"Clear skies," Gormlaith said firmly, "Combine our shouts, and he has to face us."

They each breathed in, and shouted across the valley of Sovngarde, the mist relinquishing its hold and retreating backwards.

A moment of silence passed, then Alduin's distant voice was heard. "Ven Mul Riik!"

The mist crawled forward again, and the heroes were forced to shout again, pushing it back. Another moment passed, and the same three words of power were heard from Alduin. The mist once again filled the valley.

"What the hell is this?" Marcus asked, his face beginning to drop. "How can he keep this up?"

Hakon shifted nervously, "Does his strength have end? Is our struggle merely in vain?"

Gormlaith barked at them both. "Stand fast! His strength is failing. Once more, and he will be forced to face us."

Marcus felt a slight tingling in his throat from all the shouting he'd done that day, but he didn't really see an alternative.

"Lok… Vah Kor!"

For a final time, the four shouts rushed through the valley and dispelled the mist. Silence followed. A long silence. Marcus felt uneasy, but gave himself some minor comfort by tightening his grip on his weapons.

The sound of beating wings began to fill the air, and a sky-shattering roar was heard. Alduin, as large as he'd ever been, slowly flew up them from behind the small mountain that lay in the centre of Sovngarde's valley.

He hovered above and in front of them, an easy 100 metres away, staring down at them with anger and indignation. His gaze swapped between them all, finally resting on Marcus.

"Dovahkiin… you should not have come here… Nu hin sil dii."

Marcus clenched his jaw. Hearing the Dark Dragon's voice Marcus could almost feel the painful sting of the past injuries Alduin had caused him, as if they were still marked in his flesh. His courage threatened to waver, but Marcus swallowed the rising fear, and stepped forward.

"You hardly gave me a choice… Nikriin wyrm."

Alduin laughed to the heavens, before gazing back down at them with contempt. "Do you feel brave, Dovahkiin? I have already defeated your friends once. Beyn. I do not fear them."

Marcus stepped forward again, making his way to the front of the group. "But you haven't defeated me, have you? Every time we've encountered, one of us has run away from the other. No longer! This ends here..."

Alduin shook his head angrily, his voice boomed across the realm. "Face me, then! Zu'u Alduin!"

The dark dragon launched himself downward at the nordic heroes, a large blast of deep red fire rolling from his mouth and scorching the ground in a line towards them. Marcus moved forward quickly, using his left hand to gesture to the other heroes to get behind him, while planting his sword in the ground next to him with the other hand. As Alduin's strafe of fire got closer, Marcus reached out with both hands in front of him, and concentrated.

It started with a small blue-white splutter of magic in his hands, but quickly spread into a ward, easily the largest Marcus had ever tried to summon. As Marcus poured every drop of mental energy he had into his hands, the ward spread out sideways and curved at the edges, forming a shield the size of a small house in front of the four people.

It would've made Tolfdir proud. It probably would've made him ask Marcus for lessons, when it had been the other way around for so long.

Marcus had his eyes closed, gritting his teeth and concentrating hard. He felt a shudder travel along the length of the shield as Alduin's cascading line of flame hit it. The ward shimmered for a second, but didn't break. A second later, Marcus cancelled the spell, and fell to his knees, breathing heavily. That had used a lot of magicka. The three ancient heroes seemed to appreciate it though, and immediately leapt into action as soon as the shield was down. They ran forward, each shouting Dragonrend at Alduin, and readying their weapons, forming a small defensive ring around Marcus until he got his breath back. Alduin struggled in the air, his wings beating up and down in an irregular, strained pattern. He slowly circled around, and landed in front of the heroes, halfway between the small mountain and the bridge.

Alduin stared at the mortals with hatred. "Zu'u ni faas gaaffesejul..."

Marcus coughed, and shook his head side to side in an attempt to clear the spots on his vision. "But you fear me, don't you Alduin?" Marcus rasped, pulling his sword out of the ground, and taking several slow steps toward the dragon. "For the first time, you don't actually know if you'll win..."

Alduin twitched with anger, but didn't respond. Instead, he roared to the heavens, and rushed forward with a speed uncharacteristic of his size, arching his head up and attempting to engulf Marcus from above. But Alduin couldn't move that distance without telegraphing his intentions somewhat, so Marcus had time to prepare.

As Alduin lunged downward with his jaws open, Marcus dodged to the left, and raised his sword up in a two-handed grip, blade leveled sideways. Alduin's face crashed against the ground where Marcus had stood, causing bits of dirt to fly up around them. Marcus tightened his grip, and thrusted for the exposed right side of his face. The tempered dragonbone blade crashed into the hard scales on Alduin's face, and after a momentary jolt, cracked through them. The weapon sank in a few centimetres, before Alduin roared in pain and pulled his head up, and the blade had to be pulled out.

The tip of Marcus' sword was covered in steaming black blood, much to his satisfaction. The other three nordic heroes watched the exchange, and upon seeing the dark liquid, they cheered in triumph, before charging forward and whaling upon Alduin with all their might. Marcus smiled at the sight, before reminding himself of the situation he was in, and his face became stoic once more. He breathed in, and used the most appropriate shout he could think of.

"Su, Grah Dun!"

Then Marcus followed suit, a veritable vortex of twirling blades.

The sound of clashing blades filled the air around Alduin. The large dragon found himself beset upon all sides by warriors, and simply couldn't avoid all their attacks. The nordic hero's weapons didn't do much damage, so Alduin reasoned that Marcus should be his main target. However Marcus was probably more suited to avoiding dragon attacks instinctually, so Alduin found himself in a losing fight. Marcus was dealing the most damage, but the combined Thu'um was preventing Alduin from taking care of Marcus in an efficient manner. Every time he tried to take off, one of them used Dragonrend. The world-eater knew he couldn't win against so many opponents.

Alduin shifted his wings and heaved them downward, beginning to take flight. Gormlaith breathed in, preparing to use Dragonrend as she had currently gone the longest without using the Thu'um, leaving the others open to use combat-related shouts. But Alduin didn't continue to fly. Instead, he tucked his wings to his side, and dropped back down onto the ground, right on top of Gormlaith, who was expecting to see Alduin take to the skies.

The nordic woman was grasped in Alduin's talons, and a second later a brief 'crunch' was heard, and Gormlaith's entire body dissipated. Weapons, armour, everything. She just vanished.

"No! Damn you!" Hakon roared, bringing his axe down on Alduin's wing with immense force. The blade cut through the membranous flesh, earning a snarl of pain from the Dragon. Ignoring the cuts Marcus was giving him across his neck and body, Alduin turned to deal with Hakon.

The Dragon lashed out with his wing, the long talons at the end knocking into his chest. The large metal breastplate on the nord protected him from most damage, but he still was launched backward. The large man slammed into a rock 10 metres away, and as he tried to get up, Alduin bathed him in scorching dragonfire. When the flames disappeared, Hakon was nowhere to be seen.

"Hakon, no!" Felldir shouted, "Curse you, wyrm!" The older man brought his greatsword down on Alduin's hind right leg, cracking the armoured scales and bruising the flesh underneath.

Alduin grunted in pain, and lashed out with his tail, the barbed end of it catching Felldir in the stomach and knocking him away toward the edge of the cliff between the valley and the Hall.

Felldir clutched his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers, and slowly stood up, but Alduin didn't give him the chance to do anything extra.

The Dragon reared his head back, and shouted.

"Fo Krah Diin!"

A huge mass of spinning frost rushed out of Alduin's mouth, and exploded right in front of Felldir. When the frosty mist cleared, Felldir was gone.

Marcus had watched all of this happen, and no matter how many times he'd attempted to slash Alduin across the face, or bury his sword into Alduin's neck, he simply couldn't wrench the Dragon's attention from the other heroes. Marcus knew he was hurting Alduin, but he was just being ignored. The dark dragon now sported numerous cuts, scrapes and wounds over the front half of his body, but all of that had been traded for a one-on-one battle with Marcus.

The young man was now completely alone, standing against the destroyer of worlds.

The two foes stood just opposite each other, matching stares and waiting for the other to make a move. Marcus wasn't sure what had happened to the others, if they'd been 'consumed' or if they were merely displaced, and would reappear in Sovngarde a short while later. It didn't matter, though, he knew. At this point, nothing else mattered.

Alduin reared up slowly, and examined his various wounds on his torso, neck and wings. "You are… persistent, Dovahkiin. Pruzah ol aar. A fine slave, you would have made."

Marcus gripped his sword and dagger tight in his hands. "You never would have made a slave of me… Hi nis horvut aan Dovah..."

Alduin growled, "Insolent mortal..."

They charged at each other, Marcus sprinting and Alduin leaping across the ground. The Dragon's head lunged forward and Marcus slashed it away with a powerful sideways stroke that cut through Alduin's lips. The dragon swung his head back and slammed into Marcus, knocking the young man backward into a rock. Alduin followed this up with a brief blast of fire, which Marcus attempted to doge by rolling behind the rock, to a lesser degree of effectiveness than he'd have liked.

Marcus felt the heat burn at his skin, but blocked it out. As soon as he felt the dragonfire stop, he got onto his feet and ran out from behind the stone, breathing in and shouting at Alduin, using the first shout he'd ever learned.

"Fus… Ro Dah!"

The Thu'um was accompanied by the crackle of thunder, and Alduin was pushed backward, his head involuntarily arching upward. Marcus sprinted at him, reaching out and hurling his dagger at the underside of the Dragon's chin, where he knew the scales were thin, and unsupported by bone. The dagger cut through the scales and lodged itself in Alduin's flesh, causing black blood and a throaty roar to escape the Dragon. Marcus followed this up with a powerful gout of fire from his now free hand, which rushed forward and scorched Alduin's head.

Marcus was now very close to the dark dragon, sword raised and about to cut through his neck. But Alduin was fast. Ironically, the largest of all dragons was among the fastest. With his weight already on his back legs, Alduin showed immense speed, and almost 'hopped' backwards, using his wings to stabilize himself as he gained an extra 5 metres between himself and Marcus.

The young man's sword connected with nothing but air, and he left himself very exposed. Off balance, and with no cover in sight.

Alduin's maw opened, and he lunged forward for Marcus. His jaws at last found their target and clenched themselves around Marcus' torso. Alduin's mouth opened even more, as if the wyrm was smiling, having the insolent Dragonborn exactly where he wanted him.

Then Alduin bit down. Hard.

Marcus screamed in agony as his armour was crushed, with him inside it. The bone plates protected him from most of the teeth, but several of the outer incisors found a space without plating, and cut through the ebony mail underneath and inserted themselves into the flesh. Marcus felt holes get punctured in his arms and legs, and several of his ribs crack, including his sternum.

Alduin then swung his head sideways, and tossed Marcus out of his mouth and into the air. The man moved through the air and hit the ground like a limp ragdoll, smacking against the dirt and lying still.

He could hardly move, and couldn't breathe. Such an absurd amount of pain filled Marcus' head that he almost went paralyzed from shock, but he forced himself to stay awake. To focus. He couldn't lose now… not when he'd come so far.

Marcus' fingers twitched, with golden sparks dancing between the tips, and he channeled as much healing magic as he could manage through his body, which wasn't much. The pain shooting through his mind caused him to almost miscast the spells, and as such burned up a lot of unnecessary magicka.

It healed a couple of the bones, and allowed him to breath again, but at such a cost… Marcus knew he wouldn't be able to use magic for a long time. He was completely drained.

Alduin shifted to face what he thought was Marcus' corpse. Staring over at it with as close as a Dragon could get to smugness, Alduin felt satisfied that his lordship was now restored, eternally.

Then Marcus began to move. Slowly, he shifted so his legs were underneath him, and his arms were by his sides. Very slowly, he pushed at the ground and raised himself up. His arms trembled, but he managed to get onto his hands and knees. Alduin watched this with disbelief.

Marcus reached down and used his sword as a supporting pole, pushing against it with his arms to raise his body into a kneeling position. He felt a tingle on his chest, where his rune was carved onto his skin. His contingency.

It was ironic. The rune wouldn't work. He knew that. Or at least, it wouldn't work enough. The spell was based off his remaining life-force, of which he had very little at this point. It wouldn't be enough to bring down Alduin, even in his wounded state. Courage and stupidity would have to suffice. Marcus swallowed, he'd just have to trust himself. He let a small tear of unknown emotion slide down his cheek.

Alduin shook with anger. This single mortal was more defiant than the rest of his species combined. He simply refused to die.

"Daar los lo..." Alduin breathed, watching as Marcus got to a standing position with a final struggle, leaning on his sword heavily like a crutch.

Marcus' vision was like a blur. Everything moved half as fast through a lens of twisted reality. He felt the warm trickle of his blood down his limbs, but the pain was slowly drifting away, leaving him behind. Or perhaps he was leaving it behind. His 5 senses were dulled, his mind feeling thick with fog and mixed colours like a poor artist's painting.

"I cannot die!" Alduin roared, "I am Firstborn! I am eternal!"

"Enough," Marcus said in a low voice, that carried across to the dragon. Alduin was silenced. Marcus stepped forward, and raised his sword, wrapping both hands around the hilt.

"You think you're saving the world?" Alduin said, "Nirn's death is inescapable, inevitable. I have never been the villain of this story, only doing my duty."

Marus shook his head, "It's not my place to judge you… It's my place to send you to the Gods so they can."

Alduin stared at Marcus, before opening his mouth and roaring.

The roar didn't stop. It formed a wave of noise that rushed through the valley, breaking apart trees and stirring up wind. The heavens broiled, spitting out meteors, and Marcus almost felt himself get blown backward by the gusts. He buried his sword in the ground, and held onto it, closing his eyes.

The ground began to crack, like an earthquake had hit. Large chasms opened up around the area and began to widen. The earth split apart, bottomless trenches opened up, and all manner of vegetation and life began to fall down these trenches.

The world began to crumble, like a half-baked cake, breaking apart and forming little more than chunks.

Then a crash was heard, like Sovngarde had been hit by the hammer of the Gods, and everything went white.

* * *

Marcus became aware of the sensation of wind on his face, and opened his eyes. Sovngarde was gone, or at least, was destroyed, for lack of a better word. Everything had been reduced to piles of rock, no larger than a house. These large rocks moved through the air, orbiting a central point. That central point being Alduin.

In the distance, upon the same rock it had always been on, was Shor's Hall. It was on its own, just a floating rock a thousand metres away. It was the only remaining reminder of what Sovngarde had previously looked like. The rest was just recognizable lumps of rock, and empty void.

The large black Dragon was in the centre of it all, beating his large wings up and down, eyes fixed at the rock on which Marcus stood.

Marcus stood up, and pulled his sword out of the stone. He held it loosely in his hands, giving it a brief look. He glanced upward at Alduin, who's gaze followed the stone he stood on as it spun around him. The rocks were sporadic in their placement. Many of them were rather close to Alduin, and at varying heights in relation to him.

If Marcus could get to some of the higher stones, he could get Alduin within swords reach, and perhaps… just maybe… he could finish this. Alduin was injured. Perhaps even bady.

But for greater or lesser, good or bad. This is where it would end. A rather… theatrical battlefield, for sure.

Marcus breathed out deeply, gripping his sword. "Let us finish this, Alduin..." he said quietly, yet knowing the Dragon could hear him. "You will show me the meaning of your name… and I will show you the meaning of mine..."

Marcus ran forward, just as Alduin shouted a circle of unrelenting force at him. He leapt upwards, and grabbed onto the underside of a second rock that was passing just overhead to him. His fingers found plenty of small handholds, and Marcus used them to clamber his way onto the top of the rock. Alduin roared in anger again. The Dragon seemed to have abandoned any and all dialogue, focusing just on killing the mortal who kept defying him.

He breathed in again, and opened his maw, preparing to let loose another shout. Marcus quickly glanced around. There weren't any real close orbiting rock formations he could grab. The closest was approaching just behind him, quite high, but further away from Alduin.

Still, Marcus knew he didn't have much of a choice. It was either attempt to reach the rock, or die. He got a small run up, and leapt outward, just as the second stone was engulfed in frost and needles of ice. The third piece of rocky ground must have been made of a different stone, because it was smooth and almost impossible to grab.

Marcus' hands scrabbled at the stone, finding no purchase, and he quickly began to slip off, the void below threatening to swallow him whole. Thinking quickly Marcus reared his hand back, balled it into a fist, and punched at the stone with as much strength as he could manage. This smoother kind of stone was closer to limestone than anything else, and thus Marcus' enchanted, armoured gauntlet was able to punch a suitable crack out of the rock that served as a place to grab, and stop him from falling into the abyss.

It probably broke his left wrist too, but Marcus could hardly feel any sensation in his limbs, so that hardly mattered.

Marcus slowly managed to scoot himself up onto the third chunk of rocky ground, and panted heavily. Alduin looked at Marcus with hatred, but didn't do anything. Marcus knew why. He'd simply wait until Marcus leapt for another rock, and then shout at that one instead, rather than destroy the rocks as Marcus left them.

Marcus was much higher up than when he started now, though. He was at the same level as Alduin's head, staring into those big red eyes. Across from him, Marcus saw another approaching platform of stone, at an ideal height and distance from Alduin. If he could jump onto it, he could potentially reach Alduin's ugly head. Once he got that far… he didn't know. Maybe Alduin would go down in one hit… possibly. If Marcus could land that one hit in the right place.

Alduin followed Marcus' gaze to the approaching platform of stone. He knew what Marcus' intentions were.

The Dragon breathed in, aiming his head towards the orbiting stone platform.

Marcus sprinted towards the edge of his rocky platform, and leapt off.

Alduin shouted at the rock Marcus had leapt for, the familiar three words of unrelenting force filling the air.

Marcus flew through the air, and plunged his sword into the side of the rock to ensure he didn't lose his grip.

Alduin's large ring of blue force and energy flew through the air, on an intercept with the middle of the stone platform. If it hit, it would destroy the entire platform, and Marcus would fall into the abyss below.

Marcus heaved himself upward, ripping his sword out of the stone and clambering onto the top of the rock. He almost collapsed onto his knees at the top, feeling so little strength left in his body. The circle of Unrelenting Force hit the rock near its base, and the entire chunk of ground began to rupture as the strength of the shout travelled through it.

The uneven surface underneath Marcus' feet cracked and separated, as he pushed himself up and ran along it. It exploded, just as he reached the edge of the stone. The force from the shout travelled upward and outward, and somewhat propelled Marcus off the platform, towards Alduin.

The young Dragonborn raised his sword, gripping it in both hands. Alduin opened his mouth and lunged toward the figure flying at him.

The last thing Marcus saw was the point of his blade, arcing down toward the centre of Alduin's forehead, as the dragon's maw was about to bite him in two.

* * *

Marcus' perception of reality became incoherent after that. Imperceptible. Unrecognizable. The world devolved into a series of white flashes and swirling forms of stone and ground, mixed with the brightest and most vivid colours he'd ever seen. He saw Alduin's eyes burning red, and heard loud draconic screams. He felt pain, along almost all of his body.

Then he heard to phrases, screamed in dovahzul.

"Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan!"

He saw a black, writhing mass of flesh slowly turn a bright gold, and raise itself upwards.

Then a tremendous explosion was heard, and Marcus' world went black.

* * *

Marcus felt the soft sensation of grass against his face. He opened his eyes, and saw a flower in front of him. A small dandelion, growing up out of a mass of pebbles.

He pushed up at the ground, and looked at his surroundings. His muscles didn't hurt. He felt… normal. Like he'd just woken up in the morning after a restful sleep.

He was still in Sovngarde, from what he could tell, but it had returned to normal. The ground wasn't split into a hundred floating chunks, it was reformed once again. As Marcus sat up, he saw Tsun standing at the gate to Shor's Hall. Beside him, were the three ancient heroes, in various relaxed poses. Gormlaith sat on the edge of a rock. Hakon sat cross-legged on the ground. Felldir stood leaning against a tree. They all wore happy faces.

Marcus felt confused. He didn't know what happened.

He walked over to them, surprised at how the action hadn't brought him any pain. "What… What's happened? Where's Alduin?"

The heroes looked at each other, knowing smiles on their lips. Tsun stepped forward. "Alduin is dead."

Marcus blinked. "W… what?"

Tsun laughed. "You've been unconscious for a time, since you struck him down, Dragonborn, but you can't have forgotten everything. You won."

"I… won?" The words didn't sound right in Marcus' mouth.

"The wyrm is no more," Felldir said. "You felled him after he tried to tear apart Sovngarde in an attempt to kill you. It took some time to… reform."

"Hail to the Dragonborn!" Gormalith shouted. The others recited the cry.

Their words grew distant to Marcus. He felt a tad dizzy. His heart began to speed up, with a feeling of growing elation.

 _Surely… It can't be…_ Marcus' eyes widened. He looked around quickly, seeing no trace of Alduin, or his mist.

It was. They spoke the truth.

Marcus had killed Alduin. And he had survived.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Act 1 – Complete. Done and dusted. Huzzah. Lots of combat, and I did my best to keep it varied. The fight with Alduin could've been longer, but I doubt it would've added anything meaningful. I tried to cut out the generic back-and-forth attacks, and added things that would sort of 'progress' the fight. It might have gotten a little bit unrealistic and detached from reality toward the end, but… I don't really care. It's similar in a way to the "world eater beater" mod, which makes the final fight so much better in my mind.**

 **That said, next chapter will be a fair bit shorter, and a bit more light-hearted. Only two/three more things I want to do before I start Dawnguard. Then the 'real' story will begin.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	34. Chapter 34

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 34 – Celebrations of a Regrettable Sort

The Hall of Valour was erupting with cheering and celebratory clamor. Nordic heroes slammed their tankards on tables, stamped their feet, and raised their fists to the air in triumph. Out from the jubilant throngs of noise, came a steady cry.

"Do-vah-kiin! Do-vah-kiin! Do-vah-kiin!"

The cry repeated for a good long while. Marcus just stood frozen, standing a few metres in front of the door he'd walked through. He was stunned, not knowing how he should react. If he should react at all. The intense focus and adrenaline of the battle with Alduin had faded, and all that was left, was a poor Marcus floundering in the knowledge that he'd defeated the World-Eater.

Gormlaith emerged through the door, followed by the two other heroes. She walked up to Marcus and gently pushed him on the shoulder, indicating he should go down and immerse himself in the celebrations. He snapped himself out of his daze, and headed down, as ready as he'd ever be to receive the personal congratulations of almost every hero in Sovngarde.

* * *

An uncertain amount of time later, the hand-shaking and the toasting had ended, leaving Marcus a chance to catch his breath. He had felt rather drained, physically, mentally, and emotionally, before he'd even stepped back through the doors, yet his seemingly unharmed appearance meant people thought he'd be fine to get clapped on the back, drink to his own health, and describe the fight in detail. Marcus wanted nothing more than a quiet place to sit down.

Marcus managed to get a chance to ask Felldir about how he'd been uninjured when he'd woken up. The older man simply shrugged.

"Reforming Sovngarde took some time," he had said, "Your body probably took care of itself. You must be a remarkably fast healer, though."

Marcus didn't know what to say to that. Time worked differently in Sovngarde, it seemed.

After most of the celebrations had died down, Marcus quietly snuck out the door when no-one was looking. They were all busy getting drunk anyway, so he doubted they'd miss him.

After crossing the Whale-bone bridge, Tsun nodded at Marcus. "Ready to return to Nirn, Dragonborn?"

"Not yet. I'd… I'd like to just go for a walk. Alone, if that's ok."

Tsun nodded. "Understandable."

Marcus headed off into the valley. It was much prettier now. The ominous mist was gone, and there weren't any stray disillusioned souls wandering about. The sky was back to its mesmerizing mix of colours, and a soft silence filled the air.

Marcus could hardly wrap his head around what had happened. He had won. He had survived. It hardly seemed real. It hadn't even ever been on the cards. What had transpired was such a best-case scenario, he hadn't even considered it beforehand.

Marcus thought that, at most, he'd be able to defeat Alduin quickly. His own survival had hardly ever occurred to him as an achievable goal. Hadn't that been the whole notion of why both Paarthurnax and Tsun called him 'Doom Driven'? He'd thought that surely, that meant he'd die at the end of this path.

But here he was, after the showdown, with air still entering and leaving his lungs, and blood pumping through his veins. Moreover, he had a way to return to Nirn. He would return as victorious as the heroes in storybooks, looking hardly worse for wear and having achieved every goal. It was almost too good to be true.

Marcus didn't know what to chalk it up to, either. The events of the battle were quickly becoming foggy, in his mind. Details were becoming tricky to recall. He had a feeling he wasn't 'entirely' in control of himself during the battle. Something similar to the involuntary movements he'd often experienced in Dragon fights must've been pushed up to 11, because he hardly felt like it had been his own conscious self that'd brought down Alduin.

But regardless, it had been **him** who had killed Alduin. Marcus. A young man, a little over 22 years old. Savior of the world. It was so unbelievable it almost made his head spin.

Yet, a little piece of him couldn't help but feel… nicer.

Happy was the wrong word, but rather… 'proud', in a sense. He'd saved the world, when he'd been the only one that could. He'd survived what could only be described as an unsurvivable scenario. That had to account for something. How many other people could say they'd bested a God in combat and saved the world? Maybe he should start to act a little more confident, perhaps a little more commanding in conversation.

 _Ah, probably not,_ Marcus thought to himself, smiling childishly.

* * *

The cold wind of Skyrim hit Marcus' face, and he couldn't have thought something so naturally uncomfortable could be so welcoming. As he opened his eyes, he saw the familiar sight of the Throat of the World laid out in front of him. Paarthurnax was sitting on top of his wall, like always, and bowed deeply when he saw Marcus emerge from nothingness. Odahviing was beside him, lying over a large stone. He too, bowed his head when Marcus materialized. Surrounding the Throat of the World was at least a dozen dragons. They weren't hostile, just… sombre. They laid on rocks and hovered in the air. One by one, they gave a short speech referring to Alduin, and to Marcus, before departing. Marcus couldn't understand most of it, but gathered that it was somewhat of a eulogy. Soon, there was just Marcus, Odahviing, and Paarthurnax.

Paarthurnax spoke in a low voice. "So… it is done. Alduin dilon. The Eldest is no more… he who came before all others, and has always been."

Marcus tilted his head sideways. "You don't sound altogether happy about it."

"Happy?" Paarthurnax shook his head. "No. I am not happy. Zeymahi lost ont du'ol barmahu. Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his… pahlok – arrogance of power. But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah. He was once my brother. This world will never be the same."

Marcus nodded slowly. "I guess I can understand that, I guess… But I couldn't do nothing. I did what I had to do, what I was supposed to do."

"Indeed." Paarthurnax nodded in agreement. "You saw more clearly than I, and certainly more clearly than Alduin. Rok funta koraav. Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the vennesetiid… the currents of Time. Perhaps you begin to see the world as a Dovah."

"Hmmm… Maybe. I honestly don't know if that'll be a good thing or not."

"Time will tell."

Marcus walked to the edge of the mountain. It was a semi-clear day. The clouds parted occasionally to offer glimpses of the world below. The world Marcus had saved.

"Do you think it'll keep itself saved?" Marcus asked half-jokingly. "Do you think Nirn will need me to drop by for another world-ending event?"

"I do not know, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax admitted, "But do not focus on the future. Live in the present. Craft yourself a life you desire… one of normality, if you wish. You will know if the Gods require you once more."

Marcus whispered. "A normal life… Gods, I think I've forgotten what that means..."

Paarthurnax cleared his throat. "But I forget myself. Krosis. Melancholy is an easy trap for Dovah to fall into. You have won a mighty victory today, one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph Dovahkiin. I doubt this is the last of what you will write upon the currents of time."

Paarthurnax heaved himself into the sky, as Marcus turned away from the edge and walked back into the centre of the clearing.

"Goraan!" Paarthurnax called out. "I feel younger than I have in many an age. Many Dovah are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the vahzen… rightness of my Thu'um." The old dragon paused midair, large wings beating downwards, causing flurries of snow to swirl around Marcus. "But willing or no, they will hear it. Fair thee well, Dovahkiin."

Paarthurnax disappeared into the clouds. Marcus spoke a little to Odahviing, with the red dragon congratulating him and promising any future assistance the young man might need.

Marcus asked him, "How long has it been since you saw me at Skuldafn?"

"You do not know?" Odahviing asked, "Almost one month, by my count."

"One month… wow." Marcus looked a little stunned. He knew time worked differently in other dimensions, but to be gone so long… Most of Skyrim probably thought he was dead. Seeing nothing else to talk about, Marcus thanked the dragon, and walked away.

As he began the trek down the mountain, Marcus felt a little… lost. He didn't know exactly what to do. He'd head to Whiterun, he guessed, and inform everyone that he'd been victorious. They'd probably appreciate the good news, and Balgruuf would be able to relay that information to the rest of Skyrim.

Then a stray thought entered Marcus' head, and he stopped mid-stride.

"Oh man," he said aloud, in a somewhat deflated tone at the realization. "Lydia's going to fucking kill me..."

* * *

Marcus used stealth to get through Whiterun proper. He didn't want to start a panic or excite too many people before giving his report to the Jarl. Better to leave the scenario of breaking the news to those who were better suited and knowledgable about such affairs. He honestly wasn't sure what the people of Skyrim had thought for the last month, whether they knew about his mission or not, and if they thought his long absence meant either success or defeat.

While his Dragonbone armour wasn't particularly subtle, a quick muffle spell and a certain Nightingale ability made him into a veritable ghost.

Marcus made it to the doors to Dragonsreach, and had just enough time to push them open in a dramatic fashion before the magic wore off, and he materialized out of nothing. The sight of the heavy wooden doors opening wide, followed by a towering, 6'4" figure of bone and metal appearing out of nowhere, caused both of the elderly maids sweeping the lower area of Dragonsreach to faint, collapsing onto the carpet.

They weren't in any danger, so Marcus walked past them and headed up to the Jarl's throne. Balgruuf, Irileth and Proventus were locked in discussion, but they instantly stopped speaking as they saw the dragon knight walking up the stairs toward them. Their jaws dropped, and their eyes widened. The guardsmen in the room froze, staring blankly at the Dragonborn.

Marcus stopped 5 metres in front of the Jarl, and nodded curtly, feeling every single pair of eyes in the room fixed on him.

He spoke in a slightly apologetic tone. "Ah… Sorry to keep you in suspense, it was a complicated affair."

They didn't say anything, they just continued to stare. Marcus reached up and unclasped his helmet, tucking it under his right arm and smiling tiredly at the assembled group.

Marcus cleared his throat, "I uh… I killed Alduin. You know, if that wasn't obvious."

More silence.

Balgruuf began slowly, after an awkward silence. "So… we are saved?"

Marcus gave a small smile, and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know about that."

The group frowned, unsure if Marcus was being serious.

Marcus continued. "But… you know, you can at least cross Alduin off the list of things that'd make you the contrary."

Irileth sighed, "Can you maintain a serious conversation, for once?"

Marcus' smile grew. "Is that really a question that needs answering?"

Irileth rolled her eyes, before Balgruuf cleared his throat, "Well, regardless, I think this is deserving of some celebration. Proventus, go inform the citizens that I wish to make an announcement." He turned back to face Marcus. "Will you join us for this speech?"

Marcus shook his head. "No… I think I'll wait up at the balcony. I would rather a little privacy for… what I think will happen next."

Balgruuf frowned, not understanding, but didn't say anything further as Marcus walked up the stairs behind him. The young man made his way out to the large open area, where Odahviing had been trapped. He leaned over the edge of the balcony end, looking out over the various farms and plains of Whiterun hold. It was strange, to think he had potentially saved everything that dwelt below.

Marcus felt rather nervous, though. He knew what was coming, but he didn't know how he should deal with it. He wasn't sure there would be anything he could say to make it better, and he was never good with words to begin with.

Around 15 minutes passed, when Marcus heard the sound of shoes on stone behind him. He sighed, and turned around, to see Lydia standing there.

She wasn't wearing armour for once, just plain clothes, like something you'd see most normal people in town wearing. Her expression was… unreadable. Marcus had no idea what was going through her head, but he doubted it'd be good. Her chest heaved up and down faintly, as if she had just stopped running. No doubt she'd sprinted up here as soon as she'd heard.

He got the feeling she was waiting for him to say something. Marcus looked down at the ground, and took a breath to say something. Lydia beat him to it.

"Look me in the eyes." she said firmly.

Marcus' words caught in his throat, and he forced himself to drag his gaze upward.

He thought over what he wanted to say in his mind, then began slowly. "I would say that I'm sorry… and I am… but in reality I would make the same decision twice if I had to. If you came with me, you would've died. I know that for certain, now. The battle between me and Alduin could only ever have been a one-on-one sort of thing."

Marcus took a few tentative steps toward her, and gently grasped her by the shoulders, looking into her large blue eyes. "I know you probably felt hurt, desperate, or angry. I don't blame you. You have every right to be. But it all worked out in the end, didn't it? I'm here, safe and sound, and the world is saved."

Lydia continued to look at him. The added height of his armour meant she had to look upward slightly to meet his gaze. Her expression still was indecipherable. Marcus took in a breath to say something more, but he didn't get a chance.

Reaching up, Lydia grasped the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Marcus' eyes widened in surprise, while Lydia's closed in bliss. After several long seconds, she released him.

"I had to do that once," she said softly, looking down at the ground beside her, cheeks burning bright red. "I had to feel that at least once."

Marcus didn't say anything, just standing frozen, a stunned look on his face.

Lydia said in a slightly less shaky voice, "I won't blame you for what you did Marcus… as much as you don't think it so, you're fairly smart, and what you say is probably truth."

Marcus still stood there, his fried mind taking about much longer to process everything.

Lydia cleared her throat, and stood a little straighter, "People will be celebrating down below. Go get changed in Breezehome, we'll talk more later."

Marcus hesitated, thinking quickly if he should say anything more, but realized that Lydia would need a moment to recollect her thoughts. She'd probably just come up as soon as she heard, and thus would still need time to process the knowledge that he'd survived.

He nodded in understanding at her, then headed to Breezehome. It took Marcus around 30 minutes to make the 5 minute walk, with practically every citizen in Whiterun congratulating and applauding him. He tried to sneak past as many of them as he could, seeing as they'd all get a chance to thank him during the large celebration the Jarl would no doubt plan for the evening.

* * *

The sun was just about to sink below the horizon. Various stalls, tables and seats were laid out around the Gildergreen, and into the marketplace below. A few bards were playing instruments in front of the statue of Talos, adding to the festive vibe. Marcus was surprised at how quickly the Jarl had managed to set up such a celebration, given how he'd only returned to the city that morning.

Balgruuf had brought out various items of food and drink from his personal cellar, and the furniture in both Jorrvaskr and the Bannered Mare had been brought out into the open, with most of the citizens filling the unoccupied space.

It was... beautiful, really. Every face was happy and smiling. The sound of soft music drifted through the air from the bards, mixed in with bubbling excited conversations from those gathered. Even Braith looked happy, instead of her usual sour expression. The companions had joined the festivities, though they mostly stuck together, hanging around tables and participating in drinking contests.

Lanterns hung from the branches of the Gildergreen, and from ropes hung between the houses, illuminating the area with a warm light. The smell of sweetened wine and meat filled the air. It was peaceful, and everyone welcomed the sensation, happy to know that their lives were secure once more.

Well, nearly everyone.

Despite being arguably the centre of the party, Marcus positioned himself a little distant to it, leaning on the fence near the cow. He knew he should be participating, immersing himself in the crowds and answering any questions they might have, and enjoying the victory he had given himself. But… Marcus just didn't feel like his heart was in it. He felt naked without his armour on, and kept glancing into the sky. He had to keep telling himself that he'd won, that he'd completed his task.

A familiar face walked out of the crowd. Lydia. She made her way toward him, and leaned against the fence with him. Neither said anything at first. Marcus couldn't help but notice how good Lydia smelt. She looked nice too, in a plain dress, but she always looked nice, so that sort of went without saying.

"Why do you look so distant?," Lydia asked, raising an eyebrow. "You have more right to celebrate here than anyone."

"I dunno..." Marcus shrugged. "Less than 24 conscious hours ago, I was locked in a battle to the death with the nordic God of Destruction. I don't think my mind has… entirely recovered."

"Well, this is a good opportunity to do that. To recover, relax."

"I guess..." Marcus took a few deeper breaths, like he was working up something to say. Lydia looked sideways at him expectantly.

"Lydia," he began slowly. "Do you… do you hate me for what I did?"

She blinked. "What? What on Earth are you talking about?"

"For leaving you behind... for lying to you."

She looked at his worried face, eyes filled with angst and concern that really shouldn't be there for someone his age. "Well… Maybe at first I did. You need to remember that was a month ago for me, for everyone. I was fearful more than anything. I'd failed my duty, and felt that I'd let you down. Moreover, you'd forced me to let you down. So I guess you could say I felt angry at you for that."

"Again," Marcus began, "I'm really sorry-"

"But..." she said, continuing over Marcus' attempted apology, "That doesn't matter any more. You did it. You won, and came back alive, so as it turns out, there wasn't really any need for me to be there after all."

Marcus looked at her hopefully. "So… you're not mad?"

"Well," she half-smiled playfully. "I did miss out on all your glory, so I guess I'm a little annoyed about that."

Marcus breathed out a sigh of relief, his face softened. One less thing for him to worry about. He felt a little better.

Lydia stood up, and pulled Marcus to his feet. "Now go on, get out there and have fun. You deserve it at least this once." She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek to turn his face red, then pushed him in the direction of the party, with an encouraging smile.

Marcus brushed himself off, and walked into the group of people, ready to meet their questions and clamoring words head-on.

The Companions greeted Marcus with much happiness, praising him and congratulating him on the honor he'd brought both himself, and their entire group. Vilkas asked if Marcus wanted the title of Harbinger back, to which Marcus simply said: 'Soon, but not today.' Aela, clearly already drunk, gave Marcus as many hugs and kisses as she could manage to give him, much to his embarrassment.

Some time later, after Marcus had spoken with the majority of the remaining coherent people, Erik stumbled up to him beside the tree, clearly inebriated. The younger man was surprised. He hadn't seen the adventurer earlier.

"Erik!" Marcus said with a smile. "Where have you been? You should've been among the first to have a drink with me."

Erik laughed, and wrapped an arm around Marcus' shoulders. "I was too busy sampling the Jarl's exquisite selections, the guy certainly has taste!"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. Personally, he'd had a tankard or two, but not enough to get him even tipsy. Erik on the other hand, was clearly a different story. "What are you doing in Whiterun?"

Erik burped, and frowned, before a slow realization dawned. "Oh! That's right, you were gone for a month! Ria and I moved into a house together, just behind the general store. We're gonna get married in a few weeks!"

Marcus was surprised, but pleasantly so. "I'm glad to hear it, my friend. Is Ria still doing training at Jorrvaskr?"

Erik nodded, before giggling uncharacteristically. "She always comes home at night though… there are certain… benefits to having a house alone to ourselves, if you know what I me-"

"Enough, Erik." Marcus waved a hand in front of his face, "I don't need any more of that kind of information. I'm glad for you, so let's leave it at that."

Erik laughed again, before nudging Marcus in the ribs. "What about you though? Got your eyes on any fine damsels tonight?"

Marcus punched Erik on the arm. "Oh, lay off, will you?"

He grinned lopsidedly, "I'm serious… when was the last time you got some proper 'relief'? It must've been a while."

Marcus didn't answer, and felt the slight burn of embarrassment on his face.

Even in his drunken state, the adventurer noticed Marcus' sudden stiffness in posture. He frowned, and examined Marcus closely, seeing a faint blush in his cheeks.

"What are you looking so bloody timid about?" Erik asked, coming right up close to Marcus and looking him in the face. "You blush like a milk-drinking virgi- Wait..."

Marcus fixed Erik with a venomous stare, silently urging him to drop that line of conversation.

Erik's eyes widened, and he shook his head slowly. "No..." his voice was genuinely shocked. "Don't tell me you're..."

"Choose you next words **very** carefully," Marcus' voice was dangerously low, and he glanced around to ensure no-one else was within decent earshot.

Erik couldn't believe it. "You're the Dragonborn! The single most influential, badass guy in Skyrim, and you're still a vir -!"

Marcus' hand clamped over Erik's mouth, and his head darted from side to side to see if anyone else was paying attention. Thankfully, no-one had seemed to notice Erik's unfinished proclamation. They all seemed suitably engrossed in their own conversations and drinking.

Marcus switched his gaze back to Erik, who was currently shaking with muffled laughter. Marcus waited for it to subside, before releasing his hand.

Erik raked in a couple desperately needed breaths of air, before looking Marcus up and down. "Gods… I hope I remember this in the morning. How the hell have you even managed that, anyway?"

Marcus took a step back, somewhat offended. "Look, I've been a little busy for the last year, ok? There's been a lot of matters at hand that have kept me rather preoccupied, you know? I think saving the world takes precedence over banging whoever I fancy."

"Yeah but..." Erik shrugged. "What about before you came to Skyrim?"

Marcus looked away, and his expression turned blank. "Well… I wasn't really 'available' then either… but that's a long story. I might tell you it sometime, but not now."

Erik sighed, and rubbed his face. "Well, whatever. Just… try to enjoy yourself tonight, eh? You've earned it."

The older man wandered off, and Marcus left alone. He looked around briefly, wondering what to do next. He had two choices, mainly. Either go around and act all upstanding, trying to mingle with everyone as much as he could, or he could go get blackout drunk for the first time in his life.

The answer presented itself soon afterward. A middle-aged man in a funny robe came up and introduced himself to Marcus. His name was Sam, a scholar from Cyrodiil, he said. He challenged Marcus to a friendly drinking contest for a staff, who figured he should probably listen to everyone telling him to let his guard down and relax, and thus accepted.

Marcus' last memory of that night was tapping mugs together with Sam, and pouring the special mead he'd been given down his throat, surrounded by several of Whiterun's prettier women dancing to a particularly jaunty tune from the bards.

* * *

Marcus awoke feeling very groggy, with a bad headache. A rhythmic pain shot through his head at a steady pace. Opening his bleary eyes and pushing himself into a seating position, Marcus found himself in probably the single most compromising position he'd ever found himself in. He almost had a heart attack.

He was in Markath, in the temple of Dibella. This would've been surprising enough, but it wasn't the location that was so shocking. He was naked, sitting on a large rug, surrounded by 2 sleeping women. They were draped in furs and the like, but he guessed they probably were in the same state of clothing as he was.

He recognized them immediately. Lydia and Aela.

How the hell he'd managed to get from Whiterun to here, along with two other people was baffling, but that wasn't Marcus' concern right now. His mind whirled as he considered the very obvious insinuations of the situation laid out in front of him.

 _How… I couldn't have… How fucking drunk did I get?_ Marcus thought frantically. _That's just… ridiculous..._

But there wasn't really any other explanation. It would explain the… soreness around his waist area as well. He just hoped they were all as blackout drunk as he'd been, and thus wouldn't remember whatever had occurred the previous night.

Shrugging off his headache, Marcus detached himself from the sleeping ladies, doing his utmost not to wake them up and give them the same revelation he'd given himself. He found his clothes laid out haphazardly beside the makeshift 'bed', and quickly slipped them on. If he hurried, they would probably chalk it up to some strange Dibellan ritual or something that they'd decided to take part in while drunk.

Marcus snuck over to a door at the far side of the room, and gently pushed it open. He scooted onto the other side, and pushed it closed, before leaning against it and sighing deeply, closing his eyes. This was just too surreal. Someone had played some kind of cruel joke on him, they must've.

He racked his brain for clues or answers, but all he could remember was Sam's hearty laugh, and the overpowering taste of the mead he'd drunk during the contest.

"Well, well, well. Looks like you're finally awake."

Marcus' eyes shot upwards, and he saw Senna standing there, a cheeky smile on her lips, and her arms folded.

He breathed in nervously, and twisted his hands. "Um… Do you… Would you be able to shed some light on the events of last night?"

Senna's smile widened. "You don't remember? That's a shame… from what I heard, I'd have thought it'd be… unforgettable."

Marcus gulped nervously. "So… I actually..."

Senna sighed, and placed a delicate hand on her cheek wistfully, "Myself and the others would've liked to join in, but Hamal said it wouldn't have been a good example for Fjotra… Plus, in their drunken state, I don't think those girls would've taken kindly to…. 'sharing' you."

Marcus closed his eyes, and forced himself to take several deep breaths. His fears had been realized, but he couldn't focus on that now. First things first. He needed to bury this event.

Marcus opened his eyes. "I really need to ask a favor of you… I need you to ensure that no-one else knows about this. It would cause a lot of messy ramifications elsewhere, with other people I know."

Senna raised an eyebrow, studying Marcus curiously. "An odd request… but very well, if that is what you wish, Agent of Dibella."

Marcus nodded his thanks, and quickly hurried out of the temple. The dry air of Markarth filled his lungs, giving him a little bit more mental clarity. He walked down to the stream running through the town, and promptly dunked his head in it, chasing away much of the mental fogginess he had. He pulled his head out after a few seconds. Many townsfolk were giving him odd glances, but he ignored them.

Sitting on his haunches, Marcus thought hard, or as hard as his aching brain could manage. This 'Sam' fellow had quite a few things to explain, plus he owed Marcus a staff, as he was pretty sure he'd have to have won the drinking contest if he got that drunk.

Marcus knew he needed to get back to Whiterun. Hopefully someone there could tell him what happened, and why his inhibitions had been lowered so extensively, and perhaps where Sam had gone.

* * *

Marcus stopped by Rorikstead for the night, deciding to sleep in the inn instead of camping out. It was less efficient in terms of traveling speed, but he wasn't really in a hurry. He didn't get a chance, as almost directly after he'd sat down at a table in the inn, an angry farmer stormed inside.

"You!" Ennis shouted, pointing at Marcus. "You've got some nerve showing your face in this town after what you did last night!"

Marcus looked up from his table rather warily. The extent that his common sense had been removed last night was rather worrying, so he'd hoped this wouldn't turn violent.

Marcus stood up away from his seat and held his hands out defensively. "Look, I'm afraid I don't remember what you're talking about, but I'm really sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough!" Ennis cried. "Not while my Gleda is out there, alone and afraid! You kidnapped her and sold her to that giant."

Marcus blinked once, a slight frown on his forehead. "That… uh… Yeah, that doesn't sound good."

"You're damn right it doesn't! I'll never have another prize-winning goat like Gleda. You better leave now, and don't think about coming back to Rorikstead until you've retrieved her from the giant!"

Marcus nodded, and began walking out. "Fair enough. I'll uh… I'll go get her back."

Marcus made his way out of the town quickly before any more of a scene was created. Heading towards the west, he eventually found the tracks of a lone giant. He followed them until he came to the side of a hill, where a large giant was resting amongst some rocks. A goat was beside it.

Marcus sighed, and looked down at himself. He didn't have any weapons, or armour. Getting hit by the giant was definitely something to be avoided.

Crouching down, he snuck up behind the large creature, and breathed in deep.

"Iiz, Slen Nus!"

A white ring of frost struck the giant, encasing it in a thin layer of ice, and it toppled over onto the ground, rigid. Marcus leapt forwards, summoning purple magic into his hands and conjuring a bound ethereal bow into them. He ran up to the giant's head, nocked an arrow, pulled back the drawstring, and aimed at the face of the large creature.

10 seconds later, the layer of frost immobilizing the giant shattered, and Marcus promptly released the arrow at point-blank range into the giant's head. The arrow entered its head with a crunch of bone, right in the bridge of its nose, and buried itself halfway up the shaft.

The giant groaned before remaining still. Marcus breathed out a sigh of relief, before tossing aside the bow. It dissipated as soon as it left his hands.

Marcus approached the goat, and it meandered up to him. He gave it a quick pat on the head, hopefully in recompense for the trouble he'd given the poor creature, before heading back in the direction of Rorikstead.

* * *

"You child-stealing bastard!"

Marcus groaned. He was just about to head inside Breezehome. He really didn't want to deal with this, as he'd only just spoken to Ysolda and figured out he's apparently got to go off to some 'Misty Grove' near Morvunskar. He wanted to grab his gear and get going as soon as possible, to get some answers from Sam, and hopefully a magical staff as well.

Sighing deeply, Marcus turned to see Olfrid Battleborn standing there, arms crossed and an angry expression on his face.

"Who the hell do you think you are?!" Olfrid shouted, "Sending my Jon off to that college in Solitude with that… harlot!"

Marcus closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Today was rapidly becoming one of his most disliked days of all time.

"Ok, ok..." Marcus patted the air to try and stem the angry words. "I'm going to need you to explain yourself… or myself, rather. I don't remember a goddamn thing from last night, so if you could elaborate, that'd be good."

Olfrid bristled with anger. "You don't remember?! While everyone was off their faces, my Jon expressed his desire to become a bard, and you decided to write a bloody letter of recommendation for him and Olfina, and now they're gone!"

Marcus stood still, before frowning. "So…?"

"So?!" Olfrid shouted. "My son if off cavorting with some Gray-Mane wench in a far-away city, all thanks to you!"

Marcus rubbed his temples. He really didn't want to have to deal with this, and realistically, he shouldn't have to. The man's loud voice almost made his headache return.

"Ok." Marcus began, "First of all, watch your tone. You're speaking to the man that saved your sorry ass from Alduin. Second, I almost certainly would've done the same thing if I was sober. Third, you have no right to dictate your son's life, and if he wants to spend a life as a bard with Olfina, you should do nothing but congratulate him."

Olfrid looked stunned by Marcus' brash, unapologetic tone. His face turned red with indignation, and went to say something, but Marcus spoke first.

"Now if you'll excuse me," the younger man said, "I need to go get ready to hunt down an alcoholic for a magical staff."

And with those words, Marcus went inside Breezehome and locked the door.

* * *

The misty grove looked… dreamy. It was covered in a thick mist that smelt like spiced wine. The plants and trees were too symmetrical to look real, as if they had been hand-sculpted, instead of grown.

There was only one path, one made of identical cobbled stones. It led Marcus along a windy route through the grove, over little streams and under lanterns. It would've been quite a relaxing stroll is Marcus wasn't constantly wrestling with a sense of deja vu.

After a short while, he came to a clearing, where a large table was laid out underneath some lanterns on rope. There were a couple people eating and drinking at the table. They didn't pay Marcus any mind.

Standing in front of the table, waiting for Marcus, was Sam. The man gave him a big smile, and spread his arms wide. "You're here! I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it."

Marcus stopped a few feet from Sam. He clenched his fist. "You've put me through a lot of shit this past day, so you better start explaining."

Sam laughed. "Come now, is that anyway to talk to a buddy? You had quite a bit of fun last night, if I remember correctly. Made quite a few other people happy too."

"Yeah well..." Marcus grumbled. "It's been a pain in the ass tracking you down. Where even are we?"

Sam nodded, "Ah yes. I figured you mightn't have remembered your first trip here. You had quite the night… you've certainly earned your staff, I haven't been so entertained in two hundred years."

"Wait," Marcus frowned. "What? Two hundred years?"

Sam laughed again, before the air around him began to shift and swirl, turning purple. A second later, a 7ft tall Daedra was standing before Marcus, with a goofy grin.

"You see, this wasn't an ordinary blackout night. I specifically wanted someone to go out into the world and spread a little merriment, and you did just that! Those two secret lovers from feuding families, your moment of weakness with the two pretty battle-maidens... even that Jarl and his dark elf housecarl shrugged off their inhibitions for a while. Everyone had their own debaucherous moments thanks to you. You did well."

Marcus groaned, and leaned against a barrel of wine. "So… all of this was just some prank from a dremora?"

"Just a prank? Just a prank? Sanguine, the Daedric Lord of Debauchery doesn't deal in mere 'pranks'. This may have begun as a minor amusement, but it wasn't long before I realized you'd make a more interesting bearer of my not-quite-holy staff."

"You manipulated me into sleeping with two of my closest friends," Marcus said accusingly.

"Oh please," Sanguine chuckled, "You and those two ladies were as happy as ever last night. While I'm sad they won't remember the events, know that they were *extremely* satisfied when all was said and done... you must've been keeping quite a lot of stress bottled up, you know?"

Marcus sighed. At this point, he didn't even care anymore. There was no real permanent damage done, and at least everyone had had a good time. Most of everyone, anyway.

"Well..." Marcus shrugged. "It's certainly been… an experience. That's for sure."

Sanguine smiled. "My pleasure, but I think it's time for you to go. No fun keeping you locked up in here with the staff."

The daedra handed Marcus a large rose, as big as a sword, with wispy purple-black magic dancing around the petals. As soon as he grasped it, Marcus was transported straight back to Whiterun, exactly where he'd taken part in the drinking contest.

It was now nighttime, so there was no-one else around. Marcus looked down at the artifact in his hand. It seemed happy with its new owner, if a rose could seem happy. He wasn't sure if he should consider this a good or bad adventure on the whole. It was certainly one he would remember, in any event.

Marcus began heading towards Breezehome. He wanted a rest. A proper, uninterrupted rest, where he opened his eyes in the same place he closed them.

 _I'm never touching alcohol again,_ he told himself, as he walked.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter was a little over the place. PM me if you have any questions about the insinuations in this chapter, as I understand it might not all be clear what happened and what didn't between characters. Next chapter I'll do a little quest with Borgakh,** **as I feel she's often left out in terms of stories and development.**

 **The next few chapters are going to take place a fair distance apart, in terms of Marcus' life. There'll be gaps of a month or so here and there to better accomodate Marcus' shifting outlook on himself, and the world.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Notes: Writers block hit me hard with this one. Writing it was like swimming through honey. I'll try and get the next two out quicker.**

 **Big time gap here since last chapter, around a month. Including this chapter, there'll probably only be around 3, maybe 4 more chapters before I cover Dawnguard. As a reference, Marcus' fight with Alduin was 1 year after Helgen. By the time Dawnguard is finished, it'll have been 2 years since Helgen, so there next few chapters are chronologically far apart.**

 **If you need visual references for things, the armour I tried to describe Marcus wearing later is the my take on the 'Regal Hunstman' armour by Dreamburrow. I tried to describe Borgahk to look like the Freysha preset mod.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 35 – Beauty and the Beast

The elf ran down the muddy slope as fast as he could go. He stumbled and tripped several times, falling onto the ground and covering his clothes and face in the brown smears of wet dirt. He didn't care. He just had to keep running.

The rain pelted down hard, and thunder crackled above. The elf glanced fearfully into the sky, staring at the clouds that broiled and twisted with unnatural strength. He needed to get away from here, he needed to escape. He did not want to share the fate of his friends.

The elf reached the bottom of the slope, before tripping one last time and scraping his knee against a rocky stone, hard. The rocks in the Reach were jagged, and this particular one removed plenty of skin and flesh. If not for the darkness of night, and the elf would've briefly seen the white of bone underneath. Blood from the wound flowed down his leg, mixing with the rainwater and mud. The elf forced himself to keep moving. The pain was bad, but nothing compared to what awaited him if he stayed where he was.

He got up, and limped another thirty metres in the dark before there was a flash of green behind him, and his entire body went rigid.

The elf toppled down, his body completely paralyzed. His face was pressed against the wet ground, so he couldn't see what was happening behind him. This only served to multiply his terror. The elf mentally screamed at his muscles to move, but they were silent in response. The magic had held him tight.

The effect wore off 10 seconds later. The elf scrabbled at the ground and flipped himself over, before crawling backwards quickly. He pressed his back up against a tree, looking frantically around.

There was a flash, followed by a deafening boom as lightning struck the tree the elf was huddled up against. The bolt split the trunk halfway down, and threw out large splinters, several of which dug into the flesh on the his back. The elf hardly noticed it. His entire body had gone numb at the sight the flash of lightning had revealed.

In front of him, around 15 metres away, was a figure, walking towards him. **The** figure. It held a sword at its right in a loose-looking grip. Its large figure was bulky, covered in strange plates. Its head sported two large horns, stretching upward. In its left hand, green pulsating magic swirled.

The elf opened his mouth to scream, but the colossal boom from the lightning had rendered him temporarily deaf so he heard none of the noises his mouth made. All he heard was a shrill ring in his ears, and the rapid pounding of his heart.

In his almost animalistic terror, he pressed backwards against the tree and tried to shrink his profile, not even thinking of running to the side. No doubt this figure would just paralyze him again, anyway.

"No..." he heard himself whisper, as the figure got close. "Please, Gods no..."

The tall figure didn't slow, and just walked straight up to him and buried the sword through his chest. The blade hardly seemed to face any resistance as it sliced through the elf's chest, through his heart, and into the wood behind him. The elf let out a deflated gasp, eyes widening, before he died.

A second later, the figure wrenched the sword out. The body of the elf slumped forward, blood leaking out onto the soggy ground, his mouth frozen in a scream that would never come.

Marcus wiped the blood off his dragonbone sword, then sheathed it.

 _Scratch one bandit camp,_ he thought quietly to himself, before turning and briskly walking away.

* * *

Marcus approached the orcish encampment warily. Most of the time, they weren't too fond of outsiders, so he was half-expecting an unfriendly welcome. If he could just initiate dialogue, they'd probably let him in. The trick was avoiding the 'warning' arrows fired on approach.

However, he needn't have worried. It seems this particular settlement was more candid than others, and while the two archers on either side of the gate held their bows at the ready, they didn't shoot at him. Marcus left his hands at his sides, appearing casual and relaxed.

"That's far enough, outsider!" The woman on the right called out. "By code of Malacath, this stronghold belongs to the orcs. Your kind are unwelcome."

Marcus crossed his arms. "You make an exception for blood-kin, don't you?"

The orcish woman paused, "What is your clan name?"

"Lavernius," Marcus replied.

The two guards looked at each other, an unspoken statement passed between them. The woman looked back at the young man. "Why do you seek entry?"

Marcus shrugged. "Just looking to trade a little, perhaps enquire about the surrounding area."

The two guards nodded to each other, and walked out of sight. A moment later the gate opened, and Marcus headed inside, nodding his thanks to the orcish woman. He headed up to the longhouse, deciding it best to speak to the chief before anyone else, as a sort of customary greeting.

The chief was sitting in a chair beside the entrance to the building, and watched Marcus approach with a studious gaze, as if he was sizing up the challenge Marcus could pose in a fight.

Marcus inclined his head in a half-nod, half-bow to the chieftan. Using their traditional orcish greeting might come off as pretentious, with Marcus not actually being an orc, and a full-on bow was too grovelling for his taste.

The chief nodded in return to Marcus. "You speak to Larak, chief of Mor Khazgur. What brings you here?"

"Trading, and maybe a few questions for your hunters."

Larak looked Marcus up and down plainly. "You don't seem like much, how did you earn the title of Blood-kin?"

Marcus folded his arms over his chest. He didn't 'look like much' because he wasn't wearing his Dragonbone set. He was field-testing his new, lighter armour. It was still very well-crafted, but wasn't as intimidating the other gear.

It was made of a variety of materials. Cloth, leather, a little steel, and some well-sculpted Dragonscales of the smaller, softer variety. Underneath, hidden from sight, he had a chain shirt crafted from ebony, a slightly less heavy version of the same stuff underlining his Dragonbone set. It was a bit… regal, in Marcus' opinion, but he'd wanted something a bit less bulky and utilitarian for basic adventuring.

"I earned the title of blood-kin from Largashbur." Marcus said evenly. "I assisted them in lifting a curse on their tribe."

"Is that so?" Larak grunted. "Maybe you're worth more in a fight that you look… How about a test? Your strength against mine, the winner takes 100 coins from the loser."

Marcus tilted his head sideways curiously. He knew orcs valued strength and prowess above all, even more so than Nords, but offering a challenge to a complete stranger? Still, Marcus had often wondered just how skilled these orc chieftains were, and whether or not their prowess was exaggerated. Now would be as good an opportunity as any to find out.

"Very well," Marcus nodded. "I accept. Show me what you got."

"Good," Larak smiled, "It's been too long since I've had a nice fight."

Marcus backed off, walking back out into the open, giving the chief space to get out of his chair and get ready. Several of the orcs around the stronghold perked up at the ensuing brawl. Many of them looked eager, waiting for their chieftain to knock the poor human fool to the ground.

Larak walked slowly toward Marcus, looking smug. Marcus himself had to suppress a grin. He wasn't certain he was going to win, but he was pretty damn sure. Most of the stronghold settled down on the edges of the area, in chairs or leaning against walls, looking at the two opponents.

Larak walked forward and swung a huge roundhouse punch aimed for Marcus' head. It probably would've knocked him to the floor, had it connected. Marcus ducked down, and twisted sideways. The punch sailed over his head, before he lashed out with a kick aimed at the orc's stomach. The kick landed, and staggered the orc back a pace or two.

Marcus straightened up and darted forwards, before jumping up high and slamming his knee into Larak's chin, knocking him another pace or two backwards.

The exchange only lasted a few seconds, but it sent a wave of surprised murmurs through the gathered crowd. Many swapped frowned glances.

Marcus hardly noticed. His attention stayed fixed on the chief. Larak rubbed his jaw, and his smile widened.

The chief grunted, "A proper fight it's to be, then."

Marcus allowed himself a small grin. "Well, I can go easy if you want."

Larak grunted, and lunged forward again, lashing out with a kick aimed for Marcus' ribs. The young man darted backwards, and the kick only managed to graze him. Still, the heavy metal boot would give him a decent bruise in the morning.

Marcus took two quick steps forward and landed two fast left jabs on Larak's nose, before following up with a right hook to the side of his face. The orc chieftain faltered, sent reeling by the lightning fast combo. Marcus kept up his momentum, leaping forward and slamming his knee into the orc's gut, before giving him a good shove backward.

All these attacks of Marcus' were fast, and impossible for Larak to follow up because they always made the chief stagger backwards by a foot or two. There was now numerous surprised and wondering murmurs throughout the onlookers. Their renowned chief was having a hard time landing even a few hits on the traveler.

Larak wiped a small dribble of blood from his lip, and coughed. He looked up at the seemingly unfazed human. He took in a deep breath, and charged at Marcus with a loud battle-cry. His head was bent over, like he was going to spear-tackle Marcus.

The younger man wasn't expecting this, so he didn't have enough time to dodge to the side. The orc barreled into Marcus and knocked him to the ground. He had time to land two heavy punches on Marcus' face, before the man reached out with both hands and clapped him over the ears. The orc was stunned momentarily, and Marcus used the opportunity to headbutt him.

It probably wasn't the most optimal choice, but the only one available to Marcus at the moment. His forehead cracked against the orc's nose, breaking it properly this time, and forcing the orc to ease some of his weight off the man underneath him. It hurt Marcus' head too, but it was a decent trade-off.

Marcus then grabbed a hold of Larak's shoulders, and flipped him over, reversing the pinned situation he'd been in. Marcus then rained a series of hard punches on Larak's head, until a gruff voice from underneath him called out.

"Enough!" Larak yelled.

Immediately, Marcus stopped fighting, and stood up away from the chieftain. The orc looked rather battered, much to the shock of his clan. He slowly stood up, breathing heavily, resting his hands on his knees.

Larak panted, "It is not easy to best an orcish chief… you fight well."

Marcus nodded deeply, "Likewise."

The chief went inside his longhouse, before coming out and handing Marcus a pouch of gold. Most of the people in the stronghold returned to their affairs, with a wary eye on the human. The fact that he could best the strongest in their entire village without even drawing a weapon was scary. All while wearing what they could only think was leather and robes.

Larak went to return inside his longhouse, but Marcus stopped him.

He asked, "I'd like to ask a few questions about the goings-on in this area. Who should I speak to?"

Larak pointed further up the stronghold, to a small hut with a thick animal hide serving as a curtain. "My daughter, Borgakh. She was out hunting last. She was with her grandmother, last I saw."

Marcus nodded his thanks, and walked toward the hut. Just before he entered, he heard the soft talk of voices within. Most people wouldn't have been able to hear anything, but after over a year of delving into silent ruins and caves where noticing the slightest noise could mean survival over death, Marcus was a little more attuned.

An older, harsher female voice spoke. "I understand, child. If you do decide, I will ensure he remains calm."

A younger, softer voice replied in an anxious tone. "It's not father I'm worried about. I'd end up shaming us all."

"It does not violate the Code, so you are free to do it, if you wish."

It was interesting, but not what Marcus wished to know. Not wishing to eavesdrop any more, Marcus tapped his feet against the ground to imitate approaching footsteps. His real approaching ones had been relatively silent. Force of habit. The voices in the hut quietened. A second later, Marcus pushed aside the hide, and stepped inside.

There were two women inside. One was older, wearing a dark hood and robes. Her face was old, and gnarled. Clearly the aforementioned grandmother.

The other woman was much different. For Marcus, it wouldn't be a stretch to say she was the most attractive orc he'd ever seen, though he hadn't exactly seen a lot.

Her dark black hair was longer than most female orcs, stretching down just past her shoulders. Her skin was a pale green-brown, and there was a little bone-coloured war paint accentuating her brow and cheekbones. Her facial structure was symmetrical, plain, and pretty. Two smallish tusks protruded out of her lips.

But what was most surprising, was her eyes and nose. They weren't orcish, but rather more… human-like. Her nose wasn't twisted or pointed, but rather normal. Her eyes weren't sunken into her skull, or harshly angled, but sat evenly with her face. There was the same dark eyeliner that most orcish women wore, though.

Marcus realized he'd been staring, with both women looking at him expectantly. Marcus shifted his feet, and looked at the younger girl, who must be Borgakh.

"I'm Marcus. I was told you might be able to inform me about the items and events of interest in the surrounding countryside?"

Borgakh looked at her grandmother, who nodded and gestured for her to go. Borgakh looked at Marcus and walked out the hut.

As she passed him, she said in a plain tone, "Follow me."

Marcus complied, following the orc lady to one of the taller watchtowers positioned around. They walked up to the top, where they could see most of the surrounding area, save for what was obscured by a few mountains.

"It's easier to point out locations here." Borgakh said simply. "What did you want to know?"

Marcus gestured in the rough direction of Markarth. "I was told that a number of travelers had gone missing in this nearby area. Merchant caravans, mercenary groups, and the like. I've investigated two potential sources of the disappearances, yet neither seem to be causing it. I wanted to know if you or any of the other warriors here know of any other potential causes."

Borgakh frowned, "You seek to bring the missing people back?"

Marcus shook his head. "The missing people are almost definitely dead. I seek to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Are they of your clan?"

"No."

"Then why bother?"

"Long story."

Borgakh's frown deepened, but she didn't enquire further. She pointed to the west. "There's a group of bandits past those hills. They've kept away from us, but they may be the cause."

"They aren't." Marcus shook his head. "I went to their camp, killed them all and searched the place. Very little in the way of gold or jewelry, so they can't have raided the travelers. The roads didn't show any signs of ambush, either."

Borgakh started. She'd watched the fight between Marcus and her father, but to think he'd taken on an entire bandit encampment…

"Ahem..." she took a breath. "Well… there was a dragon near the far mountain, up until about a two weeks ago, when we found it dead in a valley."

"It wasn't the Dragon. No signs of a Dragon attack on the roads, or any burnt corpses." Marcus shook his head again. "And trust me, the aftermath of a dragon attack is pretty conspicuous."

Borgakh crossed her arms. "Seems like you know as much as us. We haven't seen anything else that may cause the problem."

Marcus sighed, and sat on the edge of the watchtower, looking out over the countryside. "There's nothing else? No other unusual goings-on? No missing hunters? Randomly attacked animals?"

Borgakh chewed her lip, an easy thing to do with her tusks. "I was out hunting two days ago… saw a the remains of a few corpses. Humans, I think. Not warriors, as they only wore clothes. Wounds were… unusual to say the least."

Marcus nodded slowly, thinking. "Where were they?"

Borgakh thought hard, trying to describe it. "They were very far to the south-east. In a forest. If you want to see them, I'll need to take you there."

Marcus nodded. "I would appreciate that, but I understand if you're busy or anything…?"

Borgakh shook her head eagerly. "It is fine. You are blood-kin, and on top of that, a skilled fighter worthy of respect. Plus, if you've taken care of the marauding bandit humans, we owe you a favour."

She began walking down out of the tower, gesturing for Marcus to follow.

"I will inform my fath- The chief, and then we will depart. It is a day's journey, so gather whatever you need."

Marcus frowned at how easily the orc girl had agreed to guide him, but didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not yet anyway. So he set off to gather some things, before waiting at the gate.

* * *

Borgakh pointed to a small trio of trees arrayed in a triangle. "It's just up there."

Marcus nodded, looking around the forest. He was glad Borgakh had decided to come along. He'd never have found this on his own.

In the centre of the trio of trees was clearly the remains of a small camp. A blackened circle in the centre where the campfire had been, and bedrolls laid out.

There were three bodies, looking as if they'd been dragged out of their bedrolls one night, and killed. It was hard to say. After a few days out in the open, various wild animals had done a number on the bodies. Chunks had been bitten out of various pieces. Marcus wasn't perturbed, but he was surprised to notice that neither was Borgakh.

"The animal wounds are new," she explained, pointing at them. "But the original wounds that I'd seen when I found them were the chest ones."

Marcus walked over and crouched beside the bodies. In the centre of their chest, was a large gaping wound. He inspected a little closer, and was rather surprised. Most of the organs inside were missing. That was very unusual.

"Their organs are gone."

Borgakh frowned, "What? Really?"

She walked over, and got up close to the body. If the smell or sight bothered her, she didn't show it.

"You're right..." she muttered. "Who takes the insides of someone they killed?"

Marcus thought for a moment, and chewed his lip. "There's three possibilities, from what I know."

"Hmm?"

Marcus stood up, and began checking around the camp, intently examining the ground. "First, werewolves. They tend to eat the hearts of their prey, as it gives them a slight edge in battle. Though, the wound looks a bit too clean, like they were cut open, rather than torn as you'd expect with a werewolf."

Marcus crouched down, brushing aside some leaves. "The second, is Forsworn. They remove the hearts of some of their followers and replace it with some weird-ass flower."

"I've seen them," Borgakh nodded, "They pose quite a challenge."

"The forsworn are strange," Marcus admitted. "I dunno what the flower is, but it makes them rather strong. Though, I can't see why they'd do that to a random bunch of travelers, and they clearly haven't bothered sticking a flower in their bodies."

"The third?"

Marcus sighed, standing up and looking in a northern direction. "The third, and arguably the worst, is followers of Namira."

"By Malacath..." Borgakh whispered, "you're sure?"

Marcus turned back to face her and nodded. "I can't think of anything, or anyone else that'd do this."

Borgakh nodded, "Makes sense. My grandmother told me stories of Namira as a child… They are not a fate I would wish on anyone."

"Hardly normal bedtime stories..." Marcus muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Borgakh asked, not hearing his words clearly.

"Oh! Um… I can't find any tracks, I said."

"Let me see," Borgakh walked over and had a look at the ground around where Marcus stood. She brushed aside some leaves, and scanned over the dirt carefully.

"Here," she stated, pointing at the ground. Marcus craned his head over her shoulder and had a look.

Borgakh said, "See the indentation? After a while the generic footprint shape disappears, but the heel usually leaves a deeper mark."

Marcus nodded. There was a slight half-crescent shape in the ground, most likely from some kind of armoured boot. It was easy to notice once it'd been pointed out, but he doubted he'd have seen it without her help.

He looked around the marking, and saw a few similar ones. He could try to track them as-is, but he figured he may lose them after too long. He glanced sideways at Borgakh, a hesitant look on his face.

"You want me to help you find them." Borgakh stated bluntly.

Marcus went to deny it, but stopped himself. "Y- Yeah." He nodded slowly. "I doubt I'd be able to find where they've come from myself."

"You realize that it'll be more than a small group?" Borgakh asked, eyebrows raised. "If as many people have gone missing as you said, then we may be dealing with a cult roughly the size of a bandit camp. Are you ready for that?"

Marcus frowned, standing up straight and looking at Borgakh with a curious stare.

"What?" she asked.

"You just automatically assumed you'd join the fight with me… Despite the dangers. Why?"

Borgakh's stoic manner cracked a little, and she involuntarily flinched. "I- It is nothing. Malacath's Code welcomes the opportunity to attack the subordinates of other daedra."

"Ok, now I know you're hiding something." Marcus half-smiled. He strolled over closer to her and leaned against a tree. "I'm on more familiar terms with Malacath than most, and while he doesn't particularly care for other daedra, he's never encouraged conflict."

Borgakh's face dropped and her mind raced quickly.

"Another thing," Marcus said musingly, "You practically jumped at the opportunity to lead me here, and now you're willing to go fight a bunch of daedra-worshiping cannibals. I don't get it. Orcs are brave, but not so… eager."

A slight flicker of fear passed through Borgakh's dark eyes, before she sighed in resignation. "I… I am sorry. I seek… recluse, from many affairs at the stronghold. A day away from there is a day well spent, even if it is in dangerous circumstances."

Marcus tilted his head to the side, curiosity mixed with slight concern touching his features. "Elaborate, if you could."

Borgakh sighed again. "The time soon comes when I'll be married and sent to another stronghold. It is our way, and I am proud to follow my people's traditions, but I can't help but feel… chained."

"Chained?"

"Trapped… A chief chooses who their daughters will marry, so I am unlikely to meet my future husband before I am sent off. I used to look forward to the idea, but lately it has seemed little more than a cage, waiting to enclose around me. I rather the open lands, to seek and explore at my own will."

Marcus nodded, thinking. "So that's why you came with me? To chase after that feeling a little more?"

"It is childish, I know, and only temporary. I must do as my clan wishes. To do anything else would bring shame to them."

Marcus chewed his lip. That made sense with what he'd heard from the tent, earlier. It was hardly his business, but he couldn't help but feel like he had to involve himself.

"What if I pay off your dowry?" Marcus asked.

Borgakh looked startled. "What?"

He shrugged. "It's a weird thing for a stranger to do, I know. It's just an option, you know? I've met a lot of people in the same boat. Eager for a life out of their reach, not wanting to accept a more bleak reality. I've helped them, where I could. I don't see why I shouldn't do the same with you."

Borgakh frowned deeply, studying Marcus hard. "Who are you?"

A smile broke out on the young man's face. "Ah… 'What am I?' is a better question, I think. Let's just say I know the pain of a living difficult life, and wish to steer others away from the same fate."

Borgakh blinked several times, processing the information. "Well… The stronghold would need the gold when I left to marry, anyway… I would like that, yes."

"Then it's done." Marcus nodded. "I'll sort it out when we get back to the stronghold."

"I guess I have to help you in the fight now," Borgakh said, "You've given me a substantial debt to pay, of gold and of honor."

Marcus grinned. "As you wish. Come, let's go hunt down some cannibals. Lead the way." He gestured to the ground where the first few footprints lay. The orc lady smiled, and began tracking the way to their prey.

* * *

Marcus whistled. The camp was bigger than he expected. It was set inside some kind of vaguely circular valley. Kind of like a lopsided crater. There was a small crevice to the right of their overlook that served as its only entrance by foot. In front of him and Borgahk, lay a rather steep cliff that slowly tapered out into a steep hill, which then flattened out into the bottom of the valley.

There were few campfires, which explained how the camp itself had remained undetected for so long. From a distance, the crater would've looked like a small hill, and seeing as Namira cultists ate their food raw, there was little need for fires and thus no large smoke trails in the sky.

There was a fair few people down below. Around 25 huts or tents, and a larger wooden structure that probably served as the accommodation for the high priest, or whatever was the Namira equivalent. Bandits or cannibals, they all followed the same sort of structure in terms of their bases. All in all, there'd be around 30 people down below… presumably all combatants.

"Any ideas for a plan of attack?" Borgahk asked him quietly. She wasn't one to shy from a fight, but in her eyes, this looked particularly one sided.

She wasn't wrong in that thought, but she wasn't right either.

Marcus hummed, "Hmmm… I'm thinking."

Normally he'd just charge in summoning an atronach and casting either a flame cloak or magical armour spell on him, then just cut anyone to pieces with his weapons. But… he didn't have his most powerful armour. He was yet to even enchant his current gear. Plus, he'd need to consider Borgahk. He didn't want to put her in too much of harm's way.

An idea formed in Marcus' mind. He glanced sideways at Borgahk. He was always hesitant to reveal himself, but she'd probably find out sooner or later, if they met again.

He looked up at the sky. Overcast, mid-afternoon. Good enough.

Marcus turned to face Borgahk. "Ok. I… uh… I may need you to catch me in a second."

"What?"

Marcus stood up from his crouched position, and breathed in deep.

"Strun… Ba Qo!"

The shout resonated outwards, thunder booming in the distance. Below, many of the cannibals looked up at the sky, frowning and scanning for the source of the noise. Clouds began to gather and broil in the sky, darkening.

Marcus' mouth filled with bile, and he collapsed onto his knees. If not for Borgahk reaching forward and grabbing him, he would've toppled forwards down the cliff.

"What the hell was that?!" Borgakh demanded, laying Marcus down in a sitting position.

"Sorry," Marcus breathed, "That one really takes it out of me..." He gestured with a tilt of his head toward the sky.

Borgakh looked up. The clouds that had been haphazardly placed around the sky had gathered up, and darkened considerably. A moment later, rain began to fall onto Borgakh's face, gradually increasing in intensity.

She stared. "Was that… magic?"

"Yeah..." Marcus panted, "The really cool, really strenuous kind."

Borgakh glanced at him, her hair slowly getting wet. "What does it do, apart from make it rain?"

He smiled. "Just wait..."

A minute later, Marcus was on his feet, and thunder crackled above. Down below, the cannibals were getting rather nervous. A few seconds after the first rumbles of thunder, a lightning bolt arced down from the sky and disintegrated two people standing close to each other.

There were assorted cries of surprise, before another lightning bolt struck. Then another one a few seconds after that. Borgahk looked out over the ensuing chaos, then stared back at Marcus.

"You're the one who the traders spoke of." She stated blankly. "The 'Dragonborn'."

"Yeah," Marcus smiled, taking a green potion out of a pouch and pulling out the stopper. "Surprised?"

"Somewhat."

"You'd hardly be the first." Marcus drank down the potion in one gulp, looking much more refreshed afterward. "Let's split up, keep them confused and divided. Take the crevice entrance, I'll climb down the rocks."

He tossed aside the bottle, and hung himself over the edge of the cliff, before slowly climbing down, taking his time. Borgahk nodded to herself, before drawing her sword and running down the long way.

(Line Break)

The young orc woman hardly faced any resistance. A few disorientated leftovers, and that was it. It seemed like most of the fighters who'd gathered themselves had gone off to face Marcus, which was evidently a big mistake.

Borgahk kept seeing more bodies, dead from various injuries. Fire wounds, lightning marks, along with various cuts. It was hard to believe the relatively unassuming man she'd been with had caused all this.

There were sound of fighting up ahead, so Borgahk broke into a run. She rounded a corner and saw Marcus facing off against 5 opponents in front of the red tent. He was splattered in a fair amount of blood.

Borgahk readied her sword and began running the 20 or so metres to provide Marcus aid. She didn't get a chance.

The first cannibal swung a diagonal blow with a war axe at Marcus' neck, who promptly ducked to the side and used his dagger to deflect the blow into his comrade, who was leaping in for a thrust at Marcus' midsection. The axe cleaved into his neck, and the first cannibal had just enough time to open his mouth in shock at accidentally killing a friend, before Marcus' sword darted out like a snake's tongue and split the front of his throat open.

Before the blood from his neck had even hit the ground, Marcus reached forward and plunged his dagger into the bleeding man's chest, then used it as a handle to wrench the soon-to-be dead man around and block a thrust from a third cannibal. As soon as the weapon his the flesh of the first cannibal, Marcus dropped the body and let the dead weight drag the third cannibal's weapon down.

Marcus stepped to the side and spun in a circle, raising his sword up and severing the third cannibal's head from his shoulders. The fourth cannibal charged with a warhammer, alongside the fifth who had a greatsword. They both raised their weapons up above their heads, screaming wordlessly with anger. Marcus reached out and threw his dagger at the fourth, before ducking and rolling to the side. The dagger buried itself into the fourth's eye, while the fifth's thundering downward blow struck nothing but dirt.

The young man splayed his left hand open, orange magic glowing, and his dagger flew out of the man's skull into his hand. The fifth cannibal tried to turn to face Marcus, but only served to expose the front part of his neck to Marcus' blade.

The last cannibal crumpled to the ground with a slit throat, just as Borgahk had finished running up to Marcus. She'd only taken 6 seconds to run the distance.

She stared at him with somewhat wide eyes. She'd grown up amongst skilled fighters, but that was something else. Noticing his very bloodied appearance, she realized that he might actually be hurt.

"Are you all right?" she asked quickly.

"Don't worry," Marcus waved a hand dismissively as his gear. "It's not my blood."

"..."

Borgahk looked a little stunned. Maybe even wary.

"You ok?" Marcus asked, shaking a little brain off the hilt of his dagger.

"You…" Borgahk couldn't find the words. "You're like something feral."

Marcus jolted, and stopped what he was doing. He looked up at the orc and his expression darkened. "What did you just call me?"

"No!" Borgahk said quickly, "That's not how I meant it! I mean, you took them down with such ease… with such refined skill, it can only be compared to a natural force, something created by the Gods. I meant it as sort of… a 'pure' savagery in skill."

Marcus thought on her words, and nodded slowly. "See it as you wish," he said eventually. "I've had a lot of practice, is all."

He glanced around for a moment, checking his surroundings. "You ready? I haven't found anyone important-looking, so I think the cult leader or whatever is hiding in his little house."

"I..." Borgahk closed her eyes and forced herself to focus. She'd been in plenty of fights, but this was like walking into battle with Malacath at your side. He was a very surprising individual, and one she would like to learn more about, but now wasn't the time. They were still in danger.

"Yes," she nodded. "I'm ready."

The pair walked up through the last stretch of the camp to the wooden structure. Inside, they saw a large man wearing a mix of dark robes and armour. Somewhat similar to what Marcus used to wear, only a lot more sinister.

He looked out at them with rage in his eyes, shouting off a number of curses at them, brandishing a mace. He stayed inside his little wooden shack though, not wanting to risk the open air after what he saw happen to his subordinates.

Marcus didn't say anything, he just sheathed his dagger and tossed a fireball into the house. A scream followed as the inner area was filled with flame, and the tall figure of the cultist leader came flailing out, his robes serving as a fairly flammable item, it seemed.

Seeing an opportunity, Borgahk darted forward and impaled the cultist leader on the end of her sword, the man too busy trying to extinguish the painful magical flames around him to dodge effectively.

He gasped, then fell to the ground, dead. Neither remaining fighter moved for a moment, experiencing that first moment of calm after a fight.

Marcus broke the silence with a shout.

"Lok, Vah Koor!"

Then the rain began to ease up, falling with less severity. A few moments later, it stopped and the clouds began to part. Borgahk breathed out a heavy sigh, sheathing her sword. Marcus did the same.

"Let's... not hang around," she said slowly.

"Agreed. Not much point."

They walked out of the camp, Borgahk once again surprised at how many bodies there were. Most of them, she hadn't accounted for. As they reached the crevice leading out of the small area, she looked back at the remains of the camp.

"Just how much practice have you had?" she asked.

Marcus answered plainly. "More than a hundred men combined."

She shook her head, bewildered.

"What's next for you?" he asked.

"Not sure..." she admitted. "Once everything is sorted back home, I might head to the other strongholds… meet more of my people. After that, I'm not sure."

"Well," Marcus shrugged, "If you get bored, I'd be happy to have you along some days myself."

Borgahk looked sideways at him. "Really? I would've thought you'd have a good handle on things."

"Combat wise, yes. But don't forget who led me here. Don't sell yourself short."

Borgahk baulked, "Short? I'm taller than you."

Marcus sighed. "It's an expres- Never mind."

They continued walking, the sun finally breaking through the clouds once more and drying the soaked land.

"What about you?" Borgahk asked.

Marcus looked up at the sky, the sun on his face. "Today was just one of the many similar tasks I have. Not sure specifically, but I'll probably find trouble easy enough."

 _Or it'll find me,_ Marcus added silently.


	36. Chapter 36

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 36 – Till Death do we part.

"Marcus!" Jordis called out across the house. "There's a courier here for you!"

The young man groaned, and rolled over in bed. _Blood tenacious couriers… they'd track me to the end_ _s of Nirn_ _…_

He'd stumbled into Proudspire Manor at around midnight, and was hoping to sleep in somewhat, to get some decent rest. He seemed to have fewer and fewer opportunities for that these days, but it seemed that wasn't to be the case.

Marcus swung his legs out over his bed, and grabbed a shirt off a table. He made his way down the stairs carefully, slipping it on. His body protested as he began moving, but he shrugged it off.

Down in the entrance/living area, Jordis stood next to a courier. She wore basic clothes, with her sword at her side. Marcus walked barefoot into the room, and up to the courier.

"Got something I'm supposed to deliver," the courier began. "Your eye-"

"Yeah yeah," Marcus interrupted. "My eyes only, I know. Hand it over."

The courier procured a letter, before nodding curtly and walking out. Marcus yawned, and slowly opened the letter. He walked over to a chair and sat down, scanning the contents. Jordis sat opposite him, looking at him intently with a hint of a smile on her face.

Marcus frowned. "It's an invitation."

"To what?" Jordis asked.

"Vittoria Vici's wedding." Marcus looked up from the paper. "Why the hell am I being invited?"

"You're a thane, Marcus. Plus, you saved the world. I think that qualifies."

"Hmmm…" Marcus chewed his lip, reading the rest of the letter. "It says at the end I can bring an 'entourage'. What's that?"

Jordis explained, "It's a group of people that typically follow around people of importance. Servants, bodyguards, close friends..." she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and shifted forward in her seat. "And housecarls..."

"I see..." Marcus thought for a moment. "So, I can bring along the people that often follow me around, and general friends?"

"Yes." Jordis nodded.

"That sounds like it could grow to be quite a lot of people."

"Well, the entourages of the important members can be big."

"I see..." Marcus nodded slowly. "Well, I'll send some letters out. If I do decide to head along, I'll see if some others can make it too. You're welcome to come, of course, if I decide it's worth my while."

Jordis smiled happily. "Thank you. I think you should go. It'll be a nice break, I believe."

"Hmm… Well, we shall see. I'm not the kind to go to every type of social occasion that happens in this province, Jordis. I have quite a few things on my mind."

"Oh, and Marcus?" Jordis looked a bit tentative, as if debating whether or not to say something.

"Hmm?"

"...Your shirt's on backwards."

Marcus looked down. She was correct. A tinge of red touched Marcus' cheeks, and he nodded acceptingly. Rather than go up to his room however, Marcus stood up and walked a few paces away, before lifting the shirt overhead and correcting its direction.

Jordis, after a moment of teenage-ish excitement upon seeing what Marcus was about to do, was slapped in the face with a truly worrying sight. His chest, while being muscular and battle-toned, was covered in an ugly mess of scars and physical memoirs of his battles. Every time a Dragon, Draugr, or other monstrosity got past his defenses had left a mark, and many of them had clearly not faded.

There was a long white line stretching from his neck down to his sternum, a cup-sized burn mark on his left shoulder, a trio of obvious, semi-faded claw marks down his back and around his hip, along with a variety of jagged lines sprinkled all over his ribs and pectorals. There was two large, almost identical blade marks down behind one of his shoulderblades, too. It was harrowing for Jordis to see, especially considering her role as his protector.

Then Marcus slipped the shirt back on, and everything was obscured. He was back to the simple, perfectly fine man with a couple faint facial scars.

* * *

The next three weeks passed uneventfully. Or at least, nothing out of the ordinary happened for Marcus, which is to say, lots of 'manageable' out of the ordinary events happened. He spent around two days of those three weeks at Solitude, in Proudspire Manor.

The day of the wedding arrived. Most of the courtyard outside Castle Dour had been converted into a large celebratory area, where the reception would take place. There were a collection of small tables, but very little seating areas, indicating that most of the guests would be encouraged to interact with each other, rather than sitting in one place all night. The wedding itself would take place in the Temple of the Divines and the space immediately outside it.

Guests began to arrive at around 3pm. Most were there by 4pm. At this time, Marcus was still in Proudspire Manor, trying to get himself out of a sticky situation.

"Stop squriming," Jordis scolded Marcus, as she tried to adjust his collar.

"This outfit sucks," Marcus complained. "Can't I just wear my regular clothes?"

"Marcus, your 'regular clothes' is a set of armour."

Marcus frowned, and fidgeted a little. "It itches like crazy, and there's weird lumps on the inside. I thought these sorts of clothes were meant to be comfortable."

Jordis sighed. "They're meant to make you look good, and it works."

"It makes me look like a bird dunked in a container of multi-coloured paint."

"You look fine, Marcus. Rather dashing, really."

He sighed, "Are you done? The others are bound to be there by now."

"Fine," Jordis said reluctantly. "Let's go."

* * *

"Marcus!" Argis laughed. "Finally, he's here! Took you long enough."

Marcus smiled at the beefy Nord, and grasped his hand firmly. "Getting this outfit on was a pain in the ass. Didn't miss anything, did I?"

"No, not yet anyway. The ceremony's about to begin, so we're one step closer to the drinking."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Of course. I knew their had to be another reason why you wanted to come along so badly."

The older man grinned, before his face turned a token more serious. "I have to ask though, I wouldn't have thought you'd show up. Sure, getting the whole gang together was a nice touch, but these days you seem so busy I thought you wouldn't bother."

Marcus nodded, and rubbed his cheek. "Normally I wouldn't have come, no. I'm generally not one for events like this, but then I read between the lines of the wedding, a bit."

Argis frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The groom and the bride," Marcus explained. "They're both from families that had strong ties to each side of the civil war. The Snow-shods supported Ulfric valiantly, and the Vici family have deep roots in the Empire."

"Ah..." Argis nodded, understanding. "I see."

Marcus nodded, "Anyone who wants to get the Civil War kick-started again would have a stake in ensuring this wedding goes south. I want to make sure that doesn't happen."

Argis smiled. "As good a reason as any, I guess. Cause you wouldn't have come to this event for some much-needed R&R, would you?"

"Me? Are you kidding? I expend less effort killing someone than talking to them."

Argis laughed, and went to walk away to speak to some others, but stopped a moment later. "Oh, by the way, Borgahk is raising a few eyebrows around here. You may want to introduce her to some of the more important people before she gets turfed out."

Marcus sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Yeah, I'll get on that."

He looked around for the orcish warrior, and found her easy enough. She stood around 20 centimetres taller than everyone else, and closer to a foot taller for some. As Marcus approached, he could see several of the other nobles and guests frowning in her direction. He felt a token of frustration at this.

"Borgahk," Marcus said as he got close. "I need you to come with me."

The tall orcish woman turned to see him, and a plaintive smile graced her face upon seeing his. "Marcus. I've been looking for you. I'm… a little unsure as to what I should be doing. Some people have made some confusing remarks to me, as well."

"Yeah, I gathered." Marcus rolled his eyes, and grabbed her gently by the arm. "Come on. I probably should've done this with you as soon as you arrived, but I got caught up with this stupid outfit, and -"

"Outfit?" Borgahk stopped for a moment and looked Marcus up and down. "Hmm… A tad colourful for my taste, but I think you make it look good."

"Well, that makes one of us." Marcus said tiredly, before grabbing her and walking onward again.

A minute later, Marcus walked up to General Tullius, who was conversing with Captain Aldis.

"Oh, Dragonborn." The General looked mildly surprised at seeing Marcus, but not displeased. "I wasn't aware you were invited. This is fortuitous though, I've been meaning to speak to you about the status of the Civil War ceasef-"

"Save it," Marcus waved a dismissive hand in front of Tullius. "I don't care for the war, and as far as I'm concerned, the ceasefire should last forever."

Marcus turned to Captain Aldis, not giving the General any time to retort. "Captain, I would like to introduce a close friend and traveling companion of mine, Borgahk Steel-heart."

Captain Aldis looked the orcish woman up and down, and stuck out his hand in a relatively friendly manner. A little unsure of herself, Borgahk shook it.

"She's part of my entourage," Marcus explained, "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't have her removed."

"Understood." Aldis nodded. "Unusual choice for someone to bring, but I'm not one to judge. I'll let my men know."

The Captain walked off, heading towards the many armed guards near the area. Marcus nodded to Borgahk. "Go on and have fun. Try not to crack any heads together."

"Heh… I'll try."

She gave him a smile, and walked off. General Tullius watched her go, then frowned at Marcus.

He said, "Bringing an orc to a high-class Imperial wedding? That's… not very wise."

Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. "She expressed an interest in the event, and said she wanted to come. I couldn't think of a good reason to deny her. What of it?"

"It's just..." Tullius' frown deepened. "She might cause trouble."

"She's part of my delegation," Marcus said in a reasonably accurate version of the General's voice, "You can't dictate who I bring to this council."

The General looked a little stunned, then remembered his words at the summit at High Hrothgar.

"I bring who I want," Marcus said. "I don't care if you, or any other of these pretentious, preening idiots don't like it."

"Watch your tone, young man." Tullius bristled. "You're not talking to your housecarls."

"Of course not, I treat my housecarls with respect."

The General looked borderline furious at this, but Marcus didn't give him a chance to respond. He simply turned and walked away. He looked around, trying to figure out what he should do. He wasn't entirely sure when the wedding was supposed to start, but he guessed it would be soon.

A hand tugged on Marcus' arm. He turned, and saw another familiar face.

"Illia?" Marcus said, surprised at seeing the young woman's face underneath the orange hood that Mara priestesses wore. "What're you doing here?"

"Is that anyway to greet an old friend after several months?" she asked, smiling, before proceeding to wrap her arms around his torso in a hug. Marcus returned it a moment later.

Illia continued, "And to answer your question, I'm here to conduct the wedding."

"Wait, you're going to be the one to marry Vittoria and Asgeir?"

"Surprised?" Illia giggled. "I guess I've impressed the Maramal well enough, if he's put me in charge of this."

"Clearly. Shouldn't you be off preparing?"

She shrugged, "I wasn't the only one sent up here, I've got some time. The ceremony won't start for a short while anyway."

"Ok."

They found a small bench and sat down, watching people go past. Many of them wore so many colours it looked like they'd visited Sheogorath's tailor.

"You look nice." Illia said suddenly.

"You think?" Marcus looked down at his outfit doubtfully. "It wasn't my first choice."

"Of course not, your first choice was probably armour."

Marcus didn't answer that, his silence affirming her statement well enough anyway.

After a minute, Illia spoke up again. "I'm surprised to see you here, though. You seem to be busy all the time, these days. I only ever hear about you visiting Riften after you've already left."

"Yeah..." Marcus mumbled. "It's… There's a lot out there for me to do, it seems. The more I do, the more I realize I have yet to do."

Illia looked sideways at him, concern touching her young face. Marcus didn't notice though, as much of the woman's head was obscured by a hood.

"Then we get word from travelers about you," Illia continued. "Skeletal remains of Dragons by the side of a road, entire forts wiped out… bandit activity has plummeted around Riften alone. Now, I can assume some of this is due to the ceasefire freeing up soldiers, but most of it matches your methods more than anything."

"I do what I do," Marcus said plainly. "You know this. You've witnessed much of it first-hand. What are you saying?"

Illia smiled. "Well, it leads me to believe you wouldn't have come here for a simple 'retreat'. You obviously consider this wedding as an event of importance regarding Skyrim's safety."

Marcus went silent.

"Now, considering the political relations of the bride and groom, I think it's safe to say you want to ensure nothing bad happens, to extend and perhaps make permanent the ceasefire in Skyrim. A wedding to help link the two halves of Skyrim once more, you could say."

Marcus didn't say anything for a moment. Illia looked at him expectantly.

Eventually, he chuckled. "You know… you really would've been a good addition to the College."

Illia laughed, her hood slipping down as her head tilted up. She looked more mature. More like a confident woman, having grown as a person in the last year since Marcus had found her.

Marcus coughed quietly, looking down at the ground. "Yeah… I won't lie. I didn't necessarily come here to enjoy the event, but rather to see if it all went smoothly."

Illia sighed. "One of these days, you should take a day off just for the sake of it."

Marcus shrugged. "If I need to, I will."

He stood up, and nodded politely to her. "Well, I better get going. You should probably best get prepared for the ceremony too. Take care, try not to get stage fright."

Illia rolled her eyes at him, before standing up and walking off. Marcus looked around, and noticed most of the people were filing inside the temple. The actual wedding was about to begin, it seemed.

Marcus met up with his housecarls, then blended into the crowd as he walked in.

* * *

The ceremony itself was dull. Very dull, in Marcus' opinion. He'd never been to a serious Imperial wedding, so he wasn't sure what to expect. It ended up dragging on for an hour longer than it needed to, with various prayers and the like from a priest of every divine. Except Talos.

After it was over, most of everyone filed out into the area directly outside the Temple of the Divines, where a bunch of pews were set up in front of two chairs, underneath a large balcony. Then the speeches began. With the individual's giving the speeches going up to the balcony and talking down at the crowd.

There were dozens. Family members, political people of importance, Jarls, Nobles from Cyrodiil, close friends of the families… practically every man and his dog got to put their own few words in.

Marcus happened to be sitting next to Erik, who'd jumped at the opportunity to go to another wedding, having done his own only two months ago.

"This is stupid," Marcus said quietly to him, gesturing subtly with his hand to the current speech-giver, and old Imperial noble. "How many of the people here actually care what he has to say?"

"I dunno. No-one else looks as bored as you though, so I reckon it'll be a few."

Marcus sighed, slumping down in his seat. "I preferred your wedding."

"My wedding went for 30 minutes, tops."

"Exactly," Marcus exclaimed in a quiet voice. "It was short and to-the-point. It lasted long enough to matter to the people it needed to, and that was that. There was no… 'fluff' like there is here."

"Hey," Lydia leaned across and whispered to them in an annoyed tone. "Quiet down, you'll create a scene."

Marcus grumbled something incoherent, but shut up for the moment. After another unnecessarily long amount of time, the speeches were over, and the actual fun part started. The party.

Everyone walked out into the courtyard, where Aldis often trained his men, and began milling about. They drank from wine glasses, and generally did all the talking that they couldn't do while the ceremony was happening.

Marcus walked out, and tried to find something to drink that wasn't strong enough to get him wrapped up in a convoluted quest to track down a Daedra lord. His housecarls and friends had gathered themselves into groups toward the edges of the courtyard.

Marcus grabbed himself a goblet of spiced wine, and met up with Erik, Argis, and Marcurio.

"Nice party you got yourself invited to," Marcurio said, drinking from a tankard. "This is more the sort of thing I was hoping for when I paired up with the 'Legendary Dragonborn'."

Marcus smirked. "Well, I'm glad you approve, Marcurio. I guess I owed you all something."

"Hey," Erik protested. "You don't owe us anything, we're happy to-"

Marcurio interrupted, "Don't listen to him. If you ever get any more invites, just throw them my way."

Argis rolled his eyes. "You're a merc through-and-through, aren't you?"

"What'd you expect?"

Marcus chuckled, and sipped from his goblet. They chatted a little bit more, about general things happening around the province. Most Holds were reporting dramatic decreases in bandit, dragon, and rogue mage activity. There was an unspoken glance at Marcus during this, before the conversation shifted away.

"So, Argis," Marcurio began. "When are you going to be hanging up the old suit of armour? Settling down and swapping your sword for a wedding ring like Asgeir?"

Argis shrugged. "Meh. Don't know, don't really care. Haven't met the right person, but I guess I've got plenty of time."

"What about you Marcus? Has this event got you thinking of settling down with a wife and kids?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at the mercenary. "Marcurio, you know damn well I'll sooner be dead than create a family."

"Oh, come on." Marcurio prodded Marcus in the ribs. "Surely there's a longing for love in that dragon heart of yours..."

Marcus prodded Marcurio back, twice as hard. "If this is some stupid attempt to get me to mope about how I've such a miserable and lonely life, in order to gain more verbal ammunition for a later date, it isn't working."

Marcurio clicked his tongue. "Dammit… knew I should've waited till you got drunk."

Marcus sighed. "Come on, normally at events like this you spend all your time gossiping about the bride and groom. Let's do that instead."

Erik shrugged. "I don't really know anything about the bride or groom."

The others reiterated Erik's words.

Marcus nodded glumly. "Yeah, neither do I."

* * *

Marcus eyed the sweetrolls on the table. He wasn't sure if they were 'available' yet, or if they were being saved for the after-dinner desert. No-one else was eating them, but one would've thought the servants would keep the food covered until it was to be eaten. He didn't know if it'd be socially acceptable to grab one and eat it.

Marcus glanced around. No-one was really paying attention to him. He could use telekinesis to grab one without approaching the table, and maybe turn invisible while he ate it, but someone might notice a random guest vanishing into thin air.

While this dilemma was plaguing Marcus' mind, he failed to notice the group of people moving behind him, and subsequently bumped into them as he attempted to put some distance between himself and the sweetrolls for the ensuing magical heist.

"Do you mind?" the girl behind Marcus said indignantly, having spilt a bit of her wine on her hand.

Marcus turned around quickly, "Oh, sorry! I didn't see you."

"Clearly not," the young lady said, frowning at him.

"You ought to look where you're going," said another one of the young Imperial women.

Before Marcus could respond, the third member of this little group stepped forward.

"Marcus?" Elisif said. "Well… I'm surprised to see you here."

"Oh!" Marcus bowed lightly, "Jarl Elisif, a pleasure as always."

"You can drop the formality, Marcus," the young jarl said smiling, "This is a jovial affair, after all."

"You know this man, Elisif?" asked the woman with the spilt wine.

Elisif nodded. "Oh, very much so, Lucia. He's one of my thanes."

"Really?" the second woman looked unconvinced. "He doesn't look like a thane."

Marcus smiled at the slightly obnoxious two girls. They were the same age as Elisif, and probably of similar political position in Cyrodiil.

Elisif frowned at her two companions. "Watch your tongue, Sona. This is the man I was telling you about earlier. The one who dealt with Potema."

The two girls, Sona and Lucia, glanced at each other, their frowns slowly turning shocked.

"Wait..." Lucia's face dropped. She'd completely forgotten about the wine on her wrist. "You mean… this is **the** thane? The Dragonborn?"

"In the flesh," Marcus said happily, enjoying the stunned looks on the two girls' faces.

Elisif giggled. "Yep. Without him, you'd be standing amongst a razed city, over-run with undead as Dragons breathed fire above you."

Marcus went to interject, "Well, that's a slight exaggeratio-"

"Oh my Gods!" Lucia rushed forward and bowed her head to Marcus, grasping his arms. "Please forgive me! I didn't mean to be condescending! I honestly had no idea..."

"It's fine," Marcus gently pried her hands away from him. "If I got offended every time someone misjudged me, I'd end up hating most of everyone I met."

The two girls still looked very troubled, but Marcus just simply nodded curtly to them, "Well, enjoy the party, I won't take anymore of your time."

Then he walked away.

Elisif looked at the her worried companions. "Don't worry about him. He's a nice enough sort, just a little… different, which is to be expected."

* * *

"I saw you talking to Elisif just then, and a couple other girls." Lydia said matter-of-factly.

"Nice to see your eyes are still working," Marcus replied.

They were sitting on a bench, Marcus' gaze was diverted downwards, while Lydia's was looking around.

She shot him a look at his remark. "What did they say?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Not really. I bumped into one of them and they got upset with me, but Elisif told them who I was, and they apologized."

"I see..." Lydia nodded, her curiosity satisfied. She looked out at the ongoing reception. Some bards from the College were getting set up in one corner, preparing to play music that many would dance to.

"Have you ever thought of getting married?" Marcus asked suddenly.

Lydia jolted, her cheeks flushing with red colour instantly. She looked away. "Well… not really. I figured I still have plenty of time…"

Marcus nodded firmly. "That's a good outlook. Always good to have a plan, but no-one says you need to enact it immediately."

"What about you?"

"Me? Have I ever thought of getting married?"

Lydia nodded slowly.

Marcus chewed his lip, and gestured open palmed. "I've thought about it, conceptually, but I've never considered it as something I'd ever do."

"Why not?"

"There's a lot of reasons. I'd list them, but you'd just end up getting worried." He looked up at the moon, judging the time of night. The bridge and groom would be dancing first, followed by whoever else would want to. He needed to find a secluded spot to avoid the rush, and just enjoy the music.

He stood up to leave. Lydia grabbed his arm. "I'm... worried about you, you know." She said slowly.

"Whatever for? Haven't I proved I can defend myself well enough, at least?"

"That's not what I meant," Lydia said somberly. "You… need to look after yourself."

Marcus regarded his housecarl carefully, something almost akin to pity on his face. "You worry about you, Lydia. Find yourself someone you want to dance with."

Then he walked away, disappearing in a few steps as he blended into the crowd. Lydia looked forlornly at the space he disappeared from.

"I wanted to dance with you..."

* * *

Vittoria and Asgeir were dancing in the centre of the courtyard. A wide space had been cleared for them, with a large carpet serving as the 'dance floor'. The tune the bards played was soft and melodic. It called to mind happier memories, and the promise of more to come.

He stood at the stairs leading up to the castle walls, fairly far away from the crowd. He was beginning to get bored. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened tonight, it seemed. The wedding was almost over, and everyone would soon be heading home, after the dancing had happened. Even the guards seemed to relax.

 _Waste of time,_ Marcus thought to himself. He shouldn't have come. Doesn't seem like there was any need.

Everyone watched the bride and groom intently. Vittoria seemed to be a natural dancer, which made sense given her upbringing. Asgeir was a bit clumsier, but had most likely been given a lesson or two recently, so he kept up well enough.

Even the birds seemed to be watching the dance. Up on the walls around the courtyard, the hawks of Solitude were studying the congregation of humans. They were pretty evenly spread, covering the battlements in large numbers. Marcus wondered if he should just leave. There wasn't anything more for him to do here, and if he left now he could be in the reach by morning. He wanted to follow up on some of the information he'd beaten out of Madonach in prison, perhaps wipe out a forsworn stronghold or two.

A dart of movement caught his eye. Marcus looked up, seeing a group of hawks flying away from one section of wall. He frowned, not thinking of any reason why they would.

Another flicker of shadows grabbed his attention, this time on top of the wall. Marcus peered closely at the blocky top of the battlement. On any other day, he'd have assumed it was a guard, but all of them had been given orders to stay within the courtyard, keeping order and the like. The garrison on the walls was weak on most nights anyway.

His curiosity piqued, Marcus activated a spell that Drevis from the college had taught him. A flash of purple magic blossomed in his fingers, and his vision turned bright, allowing him to see in the dark much easier.

The wall looked normal from this angle. Marcus couldn't see much of it, but there didn't seem to be any source of movement. He studied the area carefully for another minute. A few seconds before the spell wore off, he saw something stick itself between two stone fortifications. He had just enough time before his vision returned to normal to see what it was. An arrowhead, draw on a bow.

Marcus' mind flew into overdrive. An arrow. Pointed at the centre of the courtyard. An assassin aiming for Vittoria's exposed back. Most likely poisoned.

There was no way to target the assassin effectively. At best the arrow would fly off-course and strike someone in the crowd, should Marcus fire an AOE spell.

He needed to get something as large as possible in between the bow and Vittoria, as fast as possible. Only one solution came to mind.

"Wuld, Nah Kest!"

The Thu'um propelled Marcus forward with the speed of a tempest, knocking aside people and throwing himself into the space in front of Vittoria at immense speed. The sound of the shout drowned out every other sound in the area, bouncing off the walls and shattering the picturesque vibe.

Before Marcus had even stopped moving, a black arrow caught him in his upper right shoulder, the force from the arrow slamming into his flesh sent him tumbling over, rolling onto the ground a metre in front of the dancing couple. He groaned, and clambered to his feet.

As he faced away from the ground, the entire crowd, which was now silent as a whisper, saw the large arrow buried in Marcus' shoulder. Each person instantly realized what had just happened, a collective gasp filled the air, followed by more silence.

"Mother..." Marcus reached up and ripped the arrow out of his shoulder, "Fucker!"

Then a collective cry of alarm and fear came from the throats of several particular young women in the crowd.

"Marcus!" They screamed in fear.

This shattered the silence, and hell broke loose. Vittoria and Asgeir clutched each other and ran for cover, with practically everyone else in the courtyard doing the same. Screams and cries of fright filled the air. Marcus reached out with one hand and fired a powerful lightning bolt at the area the arrow came from, filling the night air with a thunderclap and blowing apart that section of the wall. The flash of light illuminated much of that area, revealing a dark figure with a bow, in the process of running.

Marcus dropped the arrow and channeled healing magic through himself to counteract the poison, then broke into a run in an instant, darting through the crowd and pushing panicked civilians out of his way.

He got up onto the wall in under 10 seconds. He then sprinted as fast as he could along said wall, bursting through the watchtowers. After the final watchtower just past Castle Dour, there was a long stretch leading to the front gate of Solitude. Down below, and behind him, Marcus could hear the shouts of soldiers as they ran to try and locate the assassin.

At the very end of this stretch, almost at the front gate, Marcus could see the dark figure with the bow. They were in the process of climbing over the edge of the wall, where they'd be able to escape through the trees outside Solitude.

Reaching out his hand, Marcus fired a paralysis spell at the figure. It struck true, paralyzing the assassin just as they were halfway over the wall.

But their centre of gravity must've been on the other side, because the assassin stay frozen. Slowly, the assassin toppled over the edge of the wall. Marcus, realizing this, and silently cursed his luck.

As he came to the edge of the wall, Marcus didn't slow down. He leapt over it, shouting 'Become Ethereal' midair and falling to the ground.

The assassin wasn't in good shape. Up close, Marcus could tell it was a man. He wore a cloak, a hood, and pretty much everything that would make him look like an assassin. He'd taken the fall from the wall pretty bad, his lower half landing on a rock. Marcus was fairly sure his spine had taken the brunt of the fall, and he was moments away from death.

Green light flashed, and the man's posture slumped as the paralysis spell wore off. He gritted his teeth and coughed up blood.

"This… won't change anything..." The assassin coughed. "The plan will still go through."

Marcus tilted his head sideways. "Huh."

A flash of lightning later, the assassin died. No use leaving the man to bleed out painfully.

Marcus searched the corpse carefully, more out of habit that anything else. He found a letter in one of the pockets underneath the cloak, and carefully opened it up. There was a bit of blood on some of the writing, but it was mostly legible.

As he finished reading it, the suspicions that'd arose upon hearing the assassin's words were confirmed. The was a set of instructions, or a reminder of the instructions. Specifically, it emphasized that Vittoria was the target, not Asgeir.

Which led Marcus to believe that this wasn't because of the Civil War. It had something to do with Vittoria specifically, though there wasn't any way to know exactly what or why. She seemed to be a fairly bland person, if Marcus was being honest. He couldn't think of any reason why she'd be the specific target of a high-stakes assassination.

Regardless, Marcus wasn't learning anything more here, so with the letter in one hand, and dragging the body of the assassin with the other, he headed back into the frantic city toward Castle Dour.

* * *

"Marcus!" Jordis called out from the front door. "There's someone here for you!"

"Oh for fuck's sake..." Marcus mumbled, climbing out of bed. The wedding had only been last night, so he'd gotten about 4 hours sleep, tops.

He came down the stairs, making sure to put his shirt on the right way, and went up to the front door. Outside was a man in armour. He looked like an imperial soldier, but the armour he wore was slightly different. Still Imperial-themed, but more reds and browns, and a bit better crafted.

"Marcus the Dragonborn," The man nodded. "I'm Commander Maro."

"Just Marcus is fine," the younger man replied. "What's this about?"

"This is about the letter you gave to Captain Aldis late last night. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

Marcus blinked, before nodding slowly. "Um… yeah… I have a working area downstairs."

"That'll do." Commander Maro nodded curtly.

Marcus opened the door wide to allow the man to step through. As they walked downstairs, Marcus called back up to Jordis.

"Stay up here for a while. If anyone else comes to the door asking for me, tell them to shove off."

A few minutes later, the two men emerged from downstairs. Marcus looked troubled, and had his 'thinking hard' look.

"So we're on the same page?" Maro asked.

Marcus nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "Yeah… I'll meet your son at Dragon Bridge this afternoon."

Commander Maro nodded thankfully, and walked out. Jordis closed the door after him, before turning back to face Marcus.

"What was that about?" she asked.

Marcus sat in a chair, resting his chin on his hand. Jordis sat opposite him. "That was the leader of the Empire's personal guard… he believes that the assassination attempt last night was part of a ploy to get the Emperor to visit Skyrim. A ploy which has worked."

"The Emperor is going to visit Skyrim?"

"Yeah. Don't know why, but apparently his cousin almost getting skewered warrants a diplomatic visit. Probably something to do with morale or appearances, I'm not sure. Either way, Maro – that man – wants my help to ensure nothing bad happens."

"I see..." Jordis looked slightly upset.

"What's wrong?" Marcus asked, looking over.

"It's just… how is this your problem? Why do you have to get involved, and why do you want to?"

Marcus stood up, and shrugged slightly. "Well… I was asked to help. This could potentially snowball into a large issue. The Emperor's life might be threatened. I should help, if I can."

"You don't have to do everything, Marcus..." she said, a hint of desperation entering her voice. "The Emperor has dozens of exceptionally skilled bodyguards. Why do you feel you need to help so much?"

Marcus frowned. "I should, alright? That's why. I should help, because I'm in a perfect position to do so."

"No-one else pushes themselves like you do, Marcus!" Jordis said a bit louder. "You shouldn't chase off after every single problem on this world. Take better care of yourself, please."

Marcus' expression darkened. He looked up at his housecarl, then looked away.

"Do you remember what happened a week and a half ago? The Burning of King Olaf?"

"Of course," Jordis nodded. "We went to watch the festival together. We had a great time."

Marcus kept his eyes staring downwards. "I almost didn't go to the festival. I almost decided to head out onto the road late in the afternoon, to head past Dragon Bridge and make some progress in other endeavours. But no, I decided to 'take a night off' and go to the event I had helped reinstate a year ago. Do you remember that?"

"Yes..."

Marcus continued. "The following morning, I headed out. After passing Dragon Bridge, I came across the site of an attacked caravan. One carriage, two horses, and a woman. Nothing alive. The arrows in the bodies were made of chitin, indicating Falmer as the source. The blood had yet to soak into the ground, and the horses were still somewhat warm, so it had happened very early that morning."

Jordis' face creased with worry. She could see where Marcus was going with this.

"The woman had a journal on her body. She'd been hesitant to go on this particular trip. A bad premonition, plus the fact that merchants sometimes went missing along the same road. She decided to go anyway, because her husband insisted they needed the money if they were to start a proper family together."

"I tracked the Falmer to a nearby cave. Massacred them all. At the end of the tunnel, half-eaten by chaurus, was a man. He had a piece of paper in his pocket, scrawled frantically while he was kept prisoner, detailing his regrets and sorrows for his wife, and how he should have listened to her. His body was still warm."

"Marcus please..." Jordis began.

"If I hadn't gone to the festival..." Marcus said slowly. "If I had left that afternoon as I originally planned, I would've been the one ambushed on that road by Falmer. I would've been able to kill them, remove the threat, and the merchant caravan would've passed by in the morning unscathed."

Marcus looked up at last. Staring Jordis directly in the eyes. His stare was cold, almost. "But I didn't. I rested. I relaxed. I decided I had earned some 'time off' to enjoy myself with a friend. And because of this, an innocent family was butchered."

Marcus stood up, and began walking to the stairs toward his room. "I will do what needs to be done, and there's nothing else to it."

A minute later, Marcus came down in his light armour with his weapons strapped on. He nodded politely to Jordis, who was still sitting in the chair with a sad look on her face.

"You take care," he said.

Then Marcuswalked out the door.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: You know, I didn't actually set out with this story to create a harem, but it's kinda just… happened… Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'll probably be dialing it back a notch to set up for Dawnguard.**

 **One more chapter on the Dark Brotherhood, it'll dabble a bit in some Skyrim fan-theories, and might be a tad doubtful in terms of realism, but it's the way I wanted to handle the Dark Brotherhood quests while maintaining the moral high ground.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	37. Chapter 37

A Doom Driven Hero: Chapter 37 – A Killer of Kings

Marcus and Commander Maro's son, Gaius Maro, met at Dragonbridge. The Penitus Oculatus had given him a small following of three men, meaning that with Marcus added, they were a group of five. Gaius spent a lot of time organizing his lists, and making sure he had everything he needed. Marcus also noticed that Commander Maro passed a letter to his son, just as they were about to leave.

"Take care, son..." Commander Maro said in a low voice, unheard to all but Marcus and Gaius. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"You worry too much, father," Gaius replied. "I'm just inspecting security, not charging off into battle. Plus we've got the Dragonborn with us. There's hardly much that can go wrong."

"When you're dealing with the emperor's safety, anything can go wrong. Go to the cities, make your observations, and come back safely."

Gaius nodded, embracing his father briefly, before returning to his stoic, straight-and-narrow soldier stature, and walking down to the group of men. The three other agents were strapping on their weapons, and shouldering packs of provisions. Marcus kept all of his in enchanted pouches, designed to carry more than normal.

"So, what's the goal here?" Marcus asked once the agents were all ready. "Your father only told me so much."

Gaius nodded firmly. "We're to visit the three cities that the Emperor is most likely to visit on his trip here. Markarth, Whiterun, and Solitude. We'll save Solitude for last, seeing as we know he'll be there."

"Why doesn't the Emperor just tell you where he's going? Or you just tell him some places are off-limits?"

The man shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "The… The Emperor has been rather reclusive of late. Refuses to see all but a select few people, and rarely informs us of his movements."

"That… is rather odd." Marcus nodded, a faint hint of a frown on his face. "One would've thought… nevermind. I suppose that just makes what we have to do all the more important."

"Yes, of course." Gaius composed himself, standing a little straighter. He turned to face the three men he'd brought with him. "Let's move out, men."

On the road, Marcus spoke with Gaius at intervals. Markarth was a strategic location, economically and geographically, and thus the Penitus Oculatus thought the Emperor may want to deepen Imperial roots there, especially now that Thonar Silverblood had been mysteriously murdered.

Marcus kept quiet when that was brought up.

Whiterun was important as a trade location, and the Emperor might want to sway Balgruuf's neutrality toward the Empire now that the Civil War wasn't an immediate threat.

And Solitude, because that'd be where the Emperor would dock in his ship, and would most likely spend a fair bit of time there.

Marcus wasn't entirely sure what he'd bring to the table in terms of observing potential sources of danger, but Gaius insisted he'd be useful. According to him, one doesn't fight through caves and ruins without a firm knowledge of traps and ambush locations. Marcus didn't know if this qualified him more than any other Penitus Oculatus agent, but kept quiet for the most part. He still didn't know why the Emperor deemed coming to Skyrim necessary, let alone going and visiting cities around the province. That just seemed like asking for trouble.

The road to Markarth was peaceful. One of the men remarked about the lack of forsworn in the area, and there were a couple pointed glances at Marcus. A few minutes later, another one of the men asked him a question.

He enquired, "I thought the armour you wore was made of Dragonbones?"

Marcus nodded. "I have an armour set that's made of Dragonbone, yes, but I don't wear it all the time."

"Why not?" Another one of the men asked.

"It's a lot of hassle. It takes a full 30 minutes to put on, and attracts a lot of attention. It also gets tiring wearing if after any duration longer than a day. I enchanted the hell out of it to make it lighter, but when it originally weighed as much as a horse, there's only so much I can do, you know?"

"I understand," Gaius chimed in from up front. "My father thought along the same lines when he commissioned our own armour. He wanted something light, but heavy enough to protect us."

"Exactly," Marcus nodded. "The stuff I'm wearing right now isn't what I'd like to go to war in, but it serves well enough."

One of them looked Marcus up and down. "Doesn't look too protective though… mostly just leather, and a few dragonscales on the shoulders and legs, I think."

Marcus stopped walking and faced the man. Reaching up, he pulled the collar on his curiass down a little bit, revealing the glint of dark metal underneath.

"Looks can be deceiving," Marcus said with a sly smile.

"What's that?" The soldier stepped forward, peering closely at the chainmail underneath.

"A pain in the ass to craft," Marcus replied. "It's a chainmail made out of ebony. Light enough to not hinder movement, but strong enough to protect against basic weaponry."

"Damn..." The third soldier whispered. "You don't fuck around."

Marcus grinned at him, a smile with plenty of teeth showing. "I wouldn't be alive if I did."

They lapsed into silence once more, continuing on toward the city.

It took them another day, and they made it to the city just after morning. Gaius spent most of the following day walking through the city, making small markings on a notebook he carried. The soldiers looked bored, while Marcus tried to maintain a blank, analytical expression. The city was smaller, these days. With the extermination of the Namira cult, and the various deaths caused by Madonach and Thonar Silverblood, the city had only just started to recollect itself.

As night fell, the group walked into the inn, and Gaius asked the innkeeper to get three rooms. One for himself, one for his three men, and one for the Marcus.

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow at the conspicuous party, but took the gold and didn't say anything, apart from informing them of the menu for that night, and requesting they didn't cause trouble.

Marcus pulled Gaius aside just before he went to his room. "Will you be safe in your own room? If these assassins can infiltrate Solitude, they'd be able to get inside Markarth."

Gaius smiled. "I'm hardly a priority target, Dragonborn. We will be fine, I promise you."

Marcus looked down, and sighed, before nodding. "Ok. I hope you're right."

The night passed quietly. Marcus headed to his room early in the night, and had a chased a fitfull sleep for the next 8 hours. He kept having bad dreams, watching the events of the wedding play over and over in his mind, except this time, the arrow wasn't hindered as it struck Vittoria down.

Marcus awoke to see the sun shining through the window in his room. He climbed out of his uncomfortable, stone bed, and headed into the main inn room. The other three soldiers were already up and about, sitting in front of the campfire. The stone walls and floors of Markarth tended to get cold during the night, so the fire was almost always lit.

"Where's Gaius?" Marcus asked.

"Probably still in bed," one of the soldiers replied. "We tend not to bother him. He does things in his own time."

"Shouldn't he be up at the same time you are? He's got a lot of work to do, from what I gather."

Another one of the soldiers shrugged. "Probably, but… he gets special treatment in the Oculatus, his father being the commander and all. We just keep our heads down."

Marcus frowned, "I'll go wake him up. The sun's risen, so time's wasting."

The men shrugged collectively, continuing to chew on their plain breakfast.

Marcus headed up the stairs at the edge of the building up to Gaius' room. He knocked at the door.

"Gaius? Are you awake?"

No answer.

Marcus repeated, a little more loudly. "Can you hear me? Are you up?"

Still no answer.

Marcus gave the door a few loud thumps. "Gaius, are you alright?" he called out.

A sound came from the other side of the door. The sound of metal grating against stone. The clatter of a few pebbles. The hairs on the back of Marcus' neck raised. Something wasn't right. He tested the door a little, finding it locked hard. He could pick it, but something told him he needed to act fast.

Normally, kicking open a metal door wasn't an easy feat, but Marcus had grown to have surprising strength in his limbs over the last few months. Taking a step back, Marcus darted forward and kicked the door in the centre, where the catch connecting the two metal frames would be on the other side. The door shook. Marcus took another step back, and kicked it again. The door broke into two, the lock on the other side shattered.

Marcus burst into the room, to find Gaius on the floor, his throat cut and the majority of the blood in his body in a pool around him. The window was open, the grate that had covered it was pulled out and laid to the side, explaining the noise Marcus heard.

"No..." Marcus ran over to the side of Gaius, his face growing stricken. "No no no no no…"

Nothing. No pulse, no breathing. The blood Marcus was kneeling in was still warm, though. The killer can't be far off. Determination set into his heart, and he clenched his jaw.

He ran over to the window, seeing the marketplace just in front of Markarth's main gate. Running through the crowd, was an argonian in black and red leather armour. It matched the same style of the armour Marcus had seen the assassin in Solitude wear.

He knew he had moments to act. Gaius was dead, and his killer was escaping. Marcus had left his weapons in his room, and the guards behind him had no clue what happened. Going and grabbing his gear, or informing the other agents, would mean the killer could escape.

Thinking quickly, and making a gamble, Marcus ran forward and jumped out the window, using 'Become Ethereal' to negate the fall, and sprinting through the crowd. People screamed as they saw the ethereal man shoving them aside, but no-one hindered him. Marcus burst out of the crowd, then ran out the gate after the assassin.

* * *

Marcus chased after the assassin for a long time. The argonian was agile, and knew he was being followed. As such, Marcus lost track of him a several times in the reach. As night fell, Marcus did his best to continue following, but he simply couldn't maintain contact with the argonian, and lost sight of him before long.

In the end, Marcus opted for a slower approach, carefully examining the tracks he knew were there, and following them. Borgahk had taught him well enough, and the fast-moving nature of his prey meant that their tracks weren't being concealed.

Marcus followed those tracks out of the Reach, through Whiterun hold, and into the Pale. He lost track of the killer as soon as he hit the snow, because as with much of Skyrim, it was snowing heavily. The tracks would've been obscured minutes after they were made, and Marcus figured he was a few hours behind his target at least.

He instead headed to Nightgate Inn, which was relatively close by to where he'd last seen the tracks. The assassin would either have passed through there, or at least stopped to grab some supplies. Marcus knew the argonian couldn't have stopped for camp, or rested at all, or eaten anything, because neither had he, and they'd seemed to remain the same distance apart.

Marcus got to Nightgate Inn just as morning broke, a full 24 hours after he'd discovered Gaius' body. Goodness knew how the soldiers had reacted. They might even suspect Marcus of committing the murder, given how he'd run off instantly. Still, he couldn't worry about that now.

Nightgate Inn looked peaceful in the morning light. The sun glinted on the snow, like the ground was inlaid with little jewels. Marcus entered the inn, seeing three people with large brown cloaks that stretched to the floor sitting at one bench, talking quietly to each other. They didn't turn to look at him as he entered, but their dialogue paused for a moment.

The bartender wasn't in sight. Marcus walked up to the counter and tapped it loudly. No response. The bartender must be downstairs in the cellar, fetching more mead or something. Marcus didn't know how long he'd be down there, but he didn't want to wait. The killer wasn't here, clearly, but he might've passed through, and that meant that the innkeeper would know when, and in what direction. Marcus couldn't afford to wait.

He headed downstairs, stepping down the into the gloomy light of the cellar. He walked past the barrels, calling out. Nothing. The place seemed deserted.

Marcus heard a set of footsteps above him. Three, by the sounds of it, walking across to the counter. He frowned, that was… unusual.

Then Marcus heard another sound, a rasping noise. The sound of a man breathing harshly and raggedly. Marcus got a distinct feeling something was very, very wrong. He ran towards the source of the breathing, and found an orc behind one of the larger barrels, a knife wound in his stomach. He wasn't dead, but he certainly wasn't going anywhere.

He didn't look like an innkeep, with his very wealthy-looking clothes, and the smooth skin on his hands. The orc's eyes fluttered deliriously. He'd lost a fair bit of blood. Marcus heard the sound of three people walking down the cellar steps, and his heart went cold as his mind connected the dots.

He glanced back at the mortally wounded orc, then towards the steps leading out of the cellar. "That's not good… that's not good at all..."

The Innkeeper was probably dead, hidden somewhere else. Marcus didn't know who this orc was, but he was most likely the only other patron in the inn when the three assassins had entered. The same three assassins that were walking down the steps to him, right now. The argonian must've met up with 'backup' as it where, on his way to a different objective.

Now Marcus was in a dark room, hidden away from the rest of the world, without any weapons, facing three skilled opponents. Great.

He reached down and channeled a very powerful burst of restoration magic through the orc. He coughed up a fair bit of blood, and promptly slipped into unconsciousness, but Marcus knew he'd survive. Orcs were tough like that.

Marcus slipped out from behind the barrels, and into the centre of the gloomy cellar. The three people walking down the stairs were revealed. One was the argonian, and the other two were men wearing full-face cowls.

The argonian stepped forward, flanked by his two 'associates'. He cracked his knuckles, while the others got rolled their shoulders and readied themselves. The argonian growled. "You're going to pay for the murder of our brother in Solitude. We're going to make this slow..."

Marcus flexed his fingers, before curling them into fists. He didn't like going old-fashioned.

"You should know," Marcus said calmly. "He killed himself."

"What?" one of the cowled men stepped forward. "How?"

"He picked a fight with me."

And with those parting words, Marcus threw himself forward, charging for the middle of the group. The three weren't expecting this, as they believed they had the initiative as the outnumbering party, so were caught off guard for a moment or two.

Marcus punched the argonian on the snout, and then kicked him in the stomach to knock him back a pace. He then raised his left arm to block a roundhouse from the assassin to his left, before punching the man in the gut. The third assassin on his right landed a kick in Marcus' exposed right ribs, so Marcus lashed out with his right elbow to hit the man's jaw. The dragonscale armour covering Marcus' right arm cracked against the man's face, and broke several teeth.

The left assassin had recovered from Marcus' gut punch, and grabbed Marcus' exposed left arm and twisted it into a grip, attempting to get the arm into an awkward position, then crack it over his shoulder.

Marcus reacted fast, and promptly headbutted the assassin as he took a step closer. The man staggered backwards a pace, relinquishing Marcus' arm. By this point, the argonian had also recovered from the powerful first combo, and lunged forward with his clawed hands for Marcus' face.

Marcus didn't have much magic left after healing the orc from near-death, but had enough for a few basic combat spells. He outstretched his right hand and blasted an impact lightning bolt directly into the face of the argonian, giving him a minor burn and launching him backwards again. The third assassin lunged out with another kick, slamming into Marcus' right ribs again, bruising them badly.

 _Need to slow them down…_ Marcus thought, mind racing quickly.

He leapt backwards, gaining a metre or two of breathing room. As the third assassin ran forward to follow up with his kick, Marcus shouted at him.

"Iiz, Slen Nus!"

The speeding ring of frost enveloped the assassin, effectively freezing him solid. Chunks of ice formed all over his body, and he toppled over and skidded across the ground.

The second assassin ran forward at Marcus, drawing a thin-bladed dagger. The argonian was just behind him.

The second assassin leapt into the air and brought the dagger down, intent on burying it through Marcus' collarbone. The young man darted backward, the dagger arcing past his face. He lashed out with a kick into the man's solar plexus, doubling him over. The argonian attacked Marcus from the right, and raked a clawed hand across his face, drawing three lines of blood across his cheek. Marcus staggered back again, before blocking the second clawed hand aiming for his neck. He pushed the offending scaly arms away, before throwing a left and right hook into the argonian's face, then leaping upwards to drive his knee into the lizard's jaw as a finisher to the combo. The argonian's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell to the floor, cracking his head against the hard stone floor.

But Marcus had left his back to the second assassin, who promptly used that as an opportunity to bury his dagger into the young man's lower back. Marcus grunted harshly in pain, reeling away. The dagger had almost gone straight into his spinal cord, but had instead deflected painfully against one of his vertebrae, and dug itself into the muscle around it instead.

The assassin seemed to be smiling at the wound he inflicted, his eyes glowing with malice. Marcus gritted his teeth in pain, before reaching behind him and painfully ripping the dagger out of his back with his left hand.

The assassin lunged forward, but Marcus, despite his injury, was faster. Bending over, he dodged to the left so that the assassin's roundhouse punch went sailing just over his head. Marcus then reached up with his right hand to grasp the man's shoulder, then buried the dagger he held in his left hand into the man's back, angled upwards so it slid between his ribs and pierced his heart. The assassin let out a gasp, his hands grasping loosely at Marcus' arms. A second or two later, he went limp, and Marcus pulled out the dagger.

A shattering sound filled the air as the third assassin, the one Marcus shouted at, was released from his icy confines as the Thu'um wore off. He desperately tried to get to his feet, but Marcus didn't let him. He quickly channeled some restoration magic through him using the last of his magicka, just to seal up the hole in his back. Then, spinning the dagger to hold it by the blade, Marcus flung the weapon at the man. It sunk itself into his neck, and killed him a few seconds later.

The argonian didn't look to be in good shape, with a small pool of blood around his head. When he fell down, he must've cracked his skull against the stone. He was probably never going to wake up, but Marcus didn't take chances. Crouching down, he gave the argonian's head a good wrench to snap his neck, then stood back up and looked at his handiwork.

"Not bad..." Marcus breathed out in a tired huff. "Not bad."

He walked over to the side of the room to grab the injured orc. He'd probably need a little more medical attention.

* * *

Marcus sat out on the porch of the Inn, rubbing his hands together. The orc was laid out in front of him in the recovery position. He'd healed the orc as much as he could, and was just waiting for the guy to wake up. Marcus wanted to know why the assassins had decided to stick around, and not just ambush Marcus on the road. Plus, he wanted to make sure the orc would recover. With the dark brotherhood, there was always the chance they had used poisons.

A few minutes later, the orc started coughing, and gradually slipped back into the world of the living.

He sat up, rubbing his head, and looked up at Marcus. "Where… who are you?"

Marcus replied. "I'm the guy that saved your life and killed the people who tried to end it."

The orc looked down at his chest, the wound all sealed up. "Then… I'm in your debt." A moment of thought passed, then the orc's face lit up with horror. "Wait! No! The letter!"

The orc quickly searched his pockets, his face getting more stricken with each moment. He tried to heave himself up, but Marcus placed a hand on his shoulder to slow him down.

"Woah, easy," Marcus said, "What's the matter? You're not in any more danger."

"No!" the orc looked around desperately. "They… there was four of them, and one of them took my letter of invite to the Emperor's reception in Solitude! He'd be headed there now!"

"Wait, what?" Marcus frowned. "The Emperor is still coming to Skyrim? After everything that's happened? His cousin's attempted murder, then the assassination of a captain of his personal guard?"

The orc nodded quickly. "With my invitation, they'll be able to get into the Castle Dour kitchen, and kill him."

"Wait..." Marcus rubbed his forehead. "Slow down, why does the invitation get them into the kitchens?"

"I'm…" the orc looked down, thinking quickly, before coming to a reluctant conclusion. "Because I'm the Gourmet… My name is Balagog. When I heard the Emperor might be coming to Skyrim, I offered to cook for him."

"You're... the Gourmet?" Marcus asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, I am," Balagog looked frustrated. "Now release me, I must go warn them."

"You're in no shape to do so," Marcus shook his head. "Head to Whiterun, and see the healers at the Temple of Kynareth. I can travel faster, I'll head to Solitude. How much of a head start did the fourth assassin get? What did he look like?"

The Gourmet thought for a moment. "He was an older man, wrinkled face. He left as soon as the argonian came into the inn. They were going to finish me off, but apparently something dangerous was heading their way, so they dragged me to the cellar and went to wait in ambush."

"I see." Marcus nodded. That explained a few things. "Ok. You get going, take it slow. You should get to Whiterun just before nightfall. Let them know Marcus sent you, and you should be fine."

"I… ok." Balagog nodded. "Promise me you'll get to Solitude fast. I don't want my reputation to be tarnished by this."

Marcus shook his head. "No promises, but I'll go as fast as I can."

Then he set off, at a brisk jog, making a beeline for Solitude."

* * *

Marcus ended up being too slow. He arrived in Solitude a day late. As soon as he got into the city, the entire place was abuzz with rumors and hearsay about the events of the last night. Apparently the Emperor had stayed at the upper levels of Castle Dour, and something bad had happened. Someone had died, apparently.

Marcus, not wanting to base his information off simple rumour, headed straight for Castle Dour. There were a lot of soldiers moving around. As soon as he headed inside, he found a large group of Penitus Oculatus agents moving about in the lobby area. Commander Maro was there.

As soon as the Commander saw Marcus, his face twisted to one of anger. But the look vanished a fraction of a second later, so fast Marcus wasn't even sure it had been there in the first place.

"The fake Gourmet has already been here, hasn't he?"

Maro looked at Marcus, and frowned. "Yes. He infiltrated the castle and poisoned the meal for the Emperor's body double."

Marcus visibly relaxed. "Ok… I guess that's a silver lining. The Emperor didn't actually die."

"Now..." Maro stepped forward, his voice growing dangerously low. "Where the hell were you? Why weren't you around when my son died? Where were you when the Emperor nearly got poisoned?"

Marcus was taken aback slightly by the Commander's angrier tone, but didn't take it to heart. The guy had just lost his son. So Marcus outlined the past events of the few days, starting with Marcus finding Gaius and chasing after his killer. Maro looked bitter, but accepted the account.

"What you've said makes sense," The commander said slowly. "It matches what my men have reported anyway. Shame you couldn't have been more helpful, but I guess you've got an opportunity to correct that, now."

"What do you mean?"

"The assassin that poisoned the Emperor's double. We caught him as he tried to flee. Some older man with a penchant for destruction magic. He pressed him with questions, and under the right… 'circumstances' he gave us answers."

Marcus frowned. "You tortured him?"

Commander Maro looked back challengingly. "Yes, we tortured him. We crushed his fingers and cut his face, and when we got the information we needed, we killed him."

Marcus' facial features darkened. "You should've waited. I would've been able to get him to talk, without such brutality."

"Don't tell me you pity those animals? In any event, how were we supposed to know where you were?" Maro shot back. "You vanished! We did what we had to, and it worked. We now have the location of the Dark Brotherhood's Sanctuary. We're going to finish this, for good."

The man took a step forward, intruding a smidgen too far into Marcus' personal space. "Now… are you going to grow up, and come help us remove the mess you could've helped us avoid, or are you going to stay here and sulk at the harshness of the real world?"

Marcus' eyes flashed with anger, and he stepped forward to directly stare into Maro's eyes. The commander was forced to look back, feeling unnerved under the unwavering gaze of those bright burning orbs. Up close, they seemed fiery, almost. Maro took a step back.

"Do **not** belittle me," Marcus said, his voice low and harsh, "I will come and assist you, for the good of Tamriel, but do not mistake my compliance for servitude. A Dragon serves no-one, and you'd do well to remember that."

Commander Maro looked back furiously, but kept quiet. "Very well..." he said in a grating tone. "My men retrieved your weapons and put them in the other room. Get your affairs in order, we move out at midday. You won't be my problem for much longer."

Marcus nodded, and walked out of the lobby area.

* * *

Marcus got sick of waiting for the Penitus Oculatus to get ready. For an elite Imperial faction of soldiers, they sure took their time to get their shit together. Gathering weapons, roll calls, provisions for the trip, charting routes, everything.

He was waiting outside Castle Dour, but decided to walk back inside and check how soon they'd depart. He saw a lot of soldiers moving around, but it was hard to tell when they'd be moving. Marcus walked toward a small cluster of agents in one corner. While it was hard to tell over the noise of various people performing various tasks, Marcus made out a few words as he approached.

"- Apparently the stuff was really expensive. Maro doesn't want to take chances with this one."

"Dunno where he gets the money to obtain things like that, I just wish he'd throw a little more in my direction."

"I know, I'd have thought – quiet..."

The group of soldiers looked up as they saw Marcus approaching, and stopped talking.  
"I thought you were waiting outside?" one of them asked.

"Got sick of waiting," Marcus replied. "When will you lot be ready?"

They exchanged a glance. "30 minutes, I think."

Marcus sighed, and nodded. At least he knew now. He turned and walked back outside, not paying anymore mind to the conversation snippet he'd heard.

* * *

"That's one creepy fucking door..." muttered a Penitus agent. Several of his comrades agreed.

Commander Maro heaved at the door, the heavy slab of stone not budging.

A raspy voice broke out on the others side. "What… is the music… of life?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "A talking door. That's new."

"It's obviously some riddle..." Maro said slowly, angry that another obstacle was placed between him and his vengeance. "Any idea what it means?"

Marcus perked up. "I might have an idea, on the appropriate counter-phrase, that is."

Maro gestured toward the door. "Go ahead, then."

Marcus walked up to the door, and cleared his throat.

"Fus… Ro Dah!"

The shout blasted into the door, and forced several of the hinges behind it to crack open. The remaining hinges, now bearing the strain of the entire door on their own, buckled and twisted as the iron bent under the weight.

The large black door sagged, and was now half-open. A few of the soldiers rushed in and pushed at it, heaving it the rest of the way open.

Commander Maro shot Marcus a dirty look. "Now they'll know we're coming."

Marcus shrugged. "If you had any other idea on how to get in, you should've said so."

The group moved down into the sanctuary, Marcus leading the way almost unconsciously. The other soldiers and agents didn't seem to mind. A few of them kept giving Marcus weird looks, but he ignored it. There was no way of knowing the kind of rumors people circulated about him these days, so a few ambiguous glances were to be expected.

There was a tight corridor leading down, lit with torches and decorated with plenty of blacks and reds. Marcus drew his sword, and picked up the pace. They all separated into various pathways branching out, leading to alternate rooms. Marcus kept traveling down the middle one, which seemed to be most travelled.

He came to a large open room, with several assassins waiting. Three of them had bows drawn, and the fourth carried a large battleaxe. The arrows were released at the tight doorway Marcus had entered through. He instantly ducked down, and the arrows sailed over his head and struck the unfortunate sod behind him.

Marcus reached out with his left hand and fired a chain lightning bolt. It disintegrated one of the archers, and stunned the other two. Running down the stairs and into the cavern, Marcus leapt into melee with the battle-axe wielding man, while the other two Penitus agents who'd come with him engaged the two remaining archers.

Arnbjorn raised his axe up high, and brought it down aiming for Marcus' head. Marcus dodged to the right, and as the battleaxe thudded into the ground, he sliced at the axe handle. The dragonbone blade cut through the reinforced wood, and separated the axehead from the long wooden handle. The burly nord looked with anger at the remains of his weapon. Marcus raised his hand and fired a gout of fire at him, scorching the side of Arnbjorn's face as he tried to duck away. He rolled onto the ground, writhing in pain as the flesh on his face seared.

Then the nord began to convulse, and Marcus actually paused for a moment, uncertain as to what was happening. Then fur began to grow on the man's skin, and Marcus' eyes widened. It had been a while since he'd seen that happen, but not long enough to forget what it meant.

Readying his sword, Marcus charged at the man, but got batted to the side by a large, black, furry arm, as Arnbjorn finished his transformation. Marcus skidded and rolled across the ground, but flipped himself over onto his hands and feet quick enough.

In front of him was a large werewolf, breathing heavily. He snarled as it looked at him, and began sprinting at him

Marcus didn't hesitate. He immediately breathed in deep.

"Yol, Tor Shul!"

A ring of fire flew from Marcus' mouth and slammed into the Arnbjorn. Given the werewolf's speed, it didn't have time to dodge to the side. Much of his fur caught fire, but this seemed to do little but enrage the beast.

The werewolf swiped at Marcus' head, who promptly ducked to avoid it. Arnbjorn swung again, with his other arm, and caught Marcus in the torso, raking his claws along the front of the young man's chest.

The front of his armour was torn, but the black chain shirt underneath protected him well enough. Marcus lashed out with his sword and opened up a deep cut across the werewolf's chest, before ducking underneath another swing, and rolling away to gain some distance.

Arnbjorn growled loudly, clutching his bleeding chest with one hand and staggering forward. He swiped at Marcus' head again with his free hand, but Marcus raised his sword and parried it away, while simultaneously cutting off a few fingers. The werewolf skulked back, snarling in pain. Marcus pressed forward, throwing several wide swings with his sword that forced the werewolf to dodge and keep moving backward.

He reached down and pulled out his dagger, before throwing it at Arnbjorn's head. The wolf blocked it with his good hand, so it didn't connect, but Marcus didn't expect it to. The werewolf now had its arm raised in front of its eyes, so it couldn't actually see Marcus' movements well. The young man rushed forward and gripped his sword with both hands, and plunged it through Arnbjorn's extended arm, and into his skull behind it. The werewolf groaned, then slumped downward.

Marcus ripped his sword out of the beast, and collected his dagger. The other two agents had dealt with the bowmen.

He hurried onward, moving through the rooms, coming across spiders, rooms full of poisons, torture chambers, and plenty more. He entered one room to see a dark elf woman fighting off two more agents. She impaled one with an ice spike, and then stabbed the other in the stomach with a sword. Luckily for Marcus, she had her back to him.

Reaching out with his left hand, Marcus fired an impact lightning bolt at her, which promptly knocked her off her feet into a wall. She got up quickly, showing natural finesse and speed, before launching another ice spike at Marcus.

He brought up a ward, before inhaling once more.

"Fo… Krah Diin!"

A ring of ice rushed forward and hit the approaching dark elf. Frost covered her body and she immediately fell to the ground, convulsing and shivering. Marcus walked over, flipped his sword into a two handed grip facing downward, and stabbed her through the chest.

He felt a bit of a burn in his throat from using three shouts in a few minutes, so mentally made a note not to use any more for a while.

Marcus made his way through more of the sanctuary, eventually coming to a large room that contained a long table. Inside were three Penitus agents, including Commander Maro, moving up on a young girl. She was injured, sporting wounds on her arms and shoulder. She was pinned against a wall, looking scared as the three agents slowly approached.

Marcus ran in and shouted, "What the hell are you doing?!"

Commander Maro and his soldiers glanced over at him involuntarily. The young girl used this as an opportunity to dart between them and run off. She moved insanely fast… much too fast for any of the men to stop her.

"Gods dammit!" Maro shouted, before turning angrily to Marcus. "We had her! You let her get away!"

"What the hell were you doing?!" Marcus shouted, walking forward and shoving Maro backwards. "That was a kid! A goddamn child, Maro!"

"That 'child' was an assassin, as much as any of them!" Maro shouted back, gesturing wildly to the general area around him. "Why else would she have been here?"

Marcus was adamant. "I don't kill children, and I won't tolerate anyone who does."

Maro stared at Marcus angrily, as if weighing something in his mind. "Are the other sections secure?"

Marcus nodded, face still angry. "Yeah. Everything in there is dead, what about on your side?"

"Close enough to the same… just a few stragglers." Maro said, clearly distracted thinking about something else. "Which means we won't need your help anymore..."

Marcus frowned. Maro gave a barely perceptible nod to someone behind him. "What the hell is that supposed to-"

Marcus felt a searing sharp pain in his the centre of his back, followed by the cold sting of steel. He'd been stabbed.

Marcus staggered backwards, bent over and loosely grasping the weapon in his torso, eyes wide with shock. One of the agents, a captain, had snuck around him and buried a thin-bladed dagger in his back. Marcus' grip on his weapons tightened, then… loosened… involuntarily.

He felt a numbing quickly spread from his back, traveling all across his body with lightning quick speed. He fell to his knees, suddenly finding breathing alone difficult. His heart quickened in panic. Poison.

"Nice work..." Maro nodded to his Penitus Oculatus captain, before walking over to Marcus.

The young man tried to stand up, but couldn't. He felt almost the same way as he had when Karliah shot him, except it was more painful. He slowly crumpled down, lying on his side and only just managing to prop himself up slightly with one arm.

Marcus choked out a few words, "You… **gasp** why'd you…?"

One of the agents walked forward, frowning. "How is he still alive? The poison was promised to shut his body down in a few seconds. He should be dead."

Maro leaned over Marcus, looking down with satisfaction. "He's tougher than we gave him credit for, I guess. Not tough enough, though."

Marcus rasped. "You… fuck..."

"I'd say this isn't personal, Marcus," Maro began darkly. "But it is. You let my son die. I entrusted him into your care and you still let him get butchered. Were you unable to stop it, or did you simply not care? I guess I'll never know."

"You **gasp…** bastard… I never -"

Maro kicked Marcus in the side of the head to shut him up. The young man's vision blurred. "Even without that, you're still a liability. A wanton loose variable that could give rise to significant trouble for the Empire. A man with the power of Akatosh at his back… even if you were on our side you'd still be a threat."

Marcus tried to say something, but his tongue no longer obeyed his commands.

Maro continued, "The idea that you could wear the Amulet of Kings… that's caused the Imperial council a lot of debate recently alone." Maro straightened and walked off. "No… it's better this way, for everyone in the Empire. You served your purpose, and now your loose end has been tied."

The captain who'd stabbed Marcus walked up to Maro. "Shouldn't we finish him off sir?"

"No need," Maro shook his head. "Look at him. He's barely hanging on. We'll torch this place and he'll be stuck inside."

The men moved out of the room, just as Marcus' vision clouded in around him and he fell into darkness.

* * *

Fire was everywhere. Every few seconds the entire area shook and rumbled as more chunks of rocks fell into the rooms and caverns. A particularly violent shake shook the area, and Marcus staggered into the side of the corridor, clutching a torch sconce as a handhold.

He wanted to vomit, to rip his intestines out of his body and throw them away, such was the pain he was experiencing. His heart burned, and his chest convulsed regularly. His stomach broiled and ached like he'd swallowed pure venom. His muscles were weak and aching, like one would feel just after waking up, except with a cramp.

Marcus had blasted his body with as much healing magic as he could, but that only served to remove the knife wound in his back. It did nothing to remove the poisons already running through his system.

Marcus' vision pulsed with colours of red and black, his eyes looked wide and bloodshot… almost crazy-like. He could hardly breath, constantly feeling like he was trapped underwater. Yet, he could still get enough air in his lungs to move, albeit slowly.

Another tremor shook the air, and rocks tumbled down from the ceiling. The air was thick with smoke. That just made it harder to breathe.

Marcus couldn't really see where he was going. He stumbled into a room, of average size. It's only distinguishing feature was the large stained glass window, in the depiction of sithis, with a stone coffin in front of it.

Marcus tried to keep walking, but found he couldn't, and collapsed onto the floor. Something exploded elsewhere, and the entire place shook again. Marcus felt the heat on his face from the various fires in the Sanctuary filling warming the entire complex. If his mind wasn't so delirious, he would've known his time had come.

Then a voice creeped into his mind.

 _Closer._

Marcus heaved himself onto his hands and knees, subconsciously crawling away from the fires bursting into the room, closer to the coffin.

 _Yes… come to me, my Listener._

Marcus looked around, chest heaving as the smoke and fires reduced the oxygen levels in the room to almost nothing.

 _Come to my embrace, and you will live._

Marcus looked up at the coffin, as it slowly creaked open. A corpse was inside, of a young woman. She didn't look old, or shriveled. As pristine as the day she'd died, by the looks of it. The corpse glowed with a soft red light.

 _Let me save you. Come to me._

Marcus, had his mind been in the right place, would have been thoroughly shocked at the notion of a talking corpse, and even more shocked at the idea of sharing its tomb.

But in his current state, he couldn't help but obey. Marcus clambered forward, and crawled into the base of the coffin, close up against the skin of the dead woman.

 _Yes… my Listener… sleep._

Then the stone coffin creaked shut, just as Marcus lost consciousness again.

* * *

Marcus coughed, and fell out of the coffin into some shallow water. He opened his eyes.

He was in the main cavern, the one where he'd fought the werewolf. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but it must've been a while because the fires had died down, and he only felt halfway dead. Marcus turned and looked at the coffin he'd emerged from. He couldn't quite remember what had happened after being stabbed, but it seems that the coffin had provided him much needed protection.

He looked at the corpse inside the coffin. He felt the need to say something, irrationally.

"I apologize for the intrusion," Marcus said, half-bowing to the corpse.

 _No need, my Listener._

"Woah..." Marcus involuntarily took a step back. The delirious memory of the woman talking to him as he crawled through the sanctuary came back to him. His eyes widened with confusion and concern.

"What… what are you?"

 _I am the Night Mother. You are my Listener._

The name rung a bell. Marcus remembered something he'd read in a book once, about the Divines. The Night Mother was the bride of Sithis. The Listener was the vessel through which the Night Mother spoke, and thus conveyed to the Listener the requests of those who wished for an assassination.

But to Marcus, that didn't make any sense. "Why did you save me? Why am I your listener? I've helped tear apart this Brotherhood."

 _You are more an instrument of death than anyone in Skyrim. Your actions may seem as working against the Dark Brotherhood, you have only given it a fresh beginning._

"What… what do you mean?"

 _Go to Solitude, protect the Emperor on his ship, as Astrid, the leader of this disillusioned band has already departed, and you will learn the truth. After… armed with understanding, you will heed my call._

Marcus didn't understand much of what the Night Mother was saying. He didn't know why he was her Listener, or what it might mean. Nor did he know what this 'truth' was. All he knew for certain, was that the Emperor was in danger. Answers, and revenge against the Penitus Oculatus would have to wait.

Marcus physically hesitated, before turning and running out. He didn't have any weapons, he felt he'd been turned inside out, and his armour was pretty damaged, but time was of the essence.

Marcus ran through the partially collapsed tunnels, out into the open air. Night had just fallen. He needed to get to the Solitude docks fast. Only one idea came to mind. He hoped the Dragon wouldn't mind.

"Odahviing!"

* * *

Marcus jumped off Odahviing's back from a great height, and dropped into the ocean near the Solitude docks. The entire place would likely be crawling with Penitus agents, so he needed to be subtle, and a large dragon swooping down to drop him off certainly wouldn't be that.

The water was cold as Marcus hit it. He got to the underside of the Emperor's vessel, and climbed up the anchor into the ship's hold.

Dripping wet, Marcus snuck through the hold. Ideally, he'd like to find the Emperor, and get him out of the ship to a safe location. But the very idea that the Emperor was here perplexed him. The same question circled Marcus' head as he climbed over crates and walked up stairs.

Why would the Emperor come to Skyrim when there were so many assassins targeting Imperial assets and people related to him?

It just defied common sense. Perhaps now that the Penitus Oculatus believed the Dark Brotherhood to be destroyed, it might've been logical, but the Emperor had already left for Skyrim before that had ever happened. Then his own body double gets murdered, and he still decided to stick around?

It's as if he wanted to be assassinated.

Marcus came onto the lower decks, to see that most of the sailors were all dead. Those in their cots were still safe, but anyone who was awake, like a group playing cards, had been killed. No doubt the works of this final assassin.

Marcus picked up the pace, jogging through the ship until he got to the upper levels. The door to the Emperor's chambers had two dead Penitus agents on either side of it. They'd been killed very recently. Blood was still flowing out of their necks.

Marcus kicked the door open and burst into the room. A woman stood next to a regally dressed man, dagger raised to plunge into his chest. The man, who could only be the Emperor, was sitting there, eyes closed, waiting for it to happen.

Marcus flung out his right hand, orange magic curling in the palm. The red-purple dagger in the Astrid's hand flew out of her grasp into his. The woman was stunned, turning to face Marcus, giving him the perfect opportunity to bury his newly acquired blade into her throat.

Astrid gurgled, her hands grasping weakly at Marcus' firm grip on the weapon. Then her eyes closed and her arms slumped. Dead. Almost anticlimactic, if he was being honest.

Marcus dropped the weapon, and turned to face the Emperor. The old man looked stunned for a moment, then defeated.

"You're Marcus, aren't you? The Dragonborn. You saved me," Titus Mede said in a flat tone.

Marcus frowned, "You don't sound like someone should, after the fact."

Titus closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. He sat down in his chair in a heap. He looked tired, as tired as an old man could possibly look.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this..." he said.

Marcus took a step back, confusion on his face. "What? What the hell do you mean? What's going on?"

Titus looked up at Marcus with a weary glance. "It would take too long to explain."

"Then you better start now," Marcus said, his voice growing angrily. "I want to know why I've traipsed all over Skyrim, watching people die left and right, just to save an Emperor who apparently doesn't want saving."

The Emperor hesitant to explain, but the look on Marcus' face wasn't one that should be refused. The old man looked down at his hands. "Ever since the Great War ended, I've been but a scapegoat for many of the Empire's problems. The White Gold Concordat, and the part I had in signing it, has made my name a damaged icon. My successes will never overshadow my failures."

"Many within the Empire dislike you, yes," Marcus nodded. "But I don't see how dying would change that."

"You're a traveled person, Marcus. You know what it looks like when conflict is looming. The Aldmeri Dominion is gearing itself for another war, and in its current state, the Empire cannot win against it. I am chained to past transgressions… I cannot lead the Empire in a new war."

"So step down," Marcus said, exasperated, "Death isn't the simplest solution. Abdicating to a younger, more charismatic person would serve the same purpose."

"To do so, would transfer suspicion onto whomever I chose. Those in the Empire would assume the new Emperor would share my ideals and visions. Ever heard of the phrase: 'The son inherits the sins of the father'? It'd work out the same if I abdicated for anyone. Thus, only by my death at the hands of another, can I ensure that whoever takes my place doesn't inherit my tenuous political position."

"Are you saying you were the one who ordered this assassination in the first place? Set up all these little objectives to make the entire process look as natural as possible?"

Titus looked guilty, and couldn't match Marcus' gaze.

Marcus took a step forward angrily. "You let several members of your own bodyguard get murdered! If your plan went through, you would've ended up butchering your own Gods-damn cousin at her wedding! The fuck is wrong with you?!"

Titus held his hands up in an attempt to calm the angry Dragonborn. "It would've been for the greater good, I assure you, and in any event, it doesn't matter now because that never happened. I hadn't… accounted for your presence."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing right now," Marcus said, eyes wide. He took a step away from the Emperor and paced back and forth. "The ends don't always justify the means, you know that, right?"

"It… it had to be so. A year from now, people still need to look back and see this as a delicately planned operation by a third party. To tone down the severity of this affair would risk everything. It had to look… natural."

Titus looked a little bit sad. "It was the only way to ensure whoever follows me as Emperor could possibly garner enough support to martial the Empire against the Aldmeri Dominion."

Marcus looked stunned. "You wanted to martyr yourself..."

Titus nodded somberly. "Yes… in essence, yes."

Marcus chewed his lip. "Do you really think that would work? Do you really think it'd help rally the Empire against the Dominion, in future?"

"I believe there is a good chance. As I am, old and ridden with contentious history, I could never lead the Empire against them."

Marcus thought about this for a good few moments. "Do you know who will take your place?"

"No, but I am sure the Elder Council will do a fine job of finding an adequate replacement."

Marcus reached down and picked up the dagger. He turned it over in his hands. "I've killed a lot of people to ensure your survival, you know."

Titus told him, "You only did so because you considered me valuable to the Empire and its citizens. But my death will end up being far more valuable than my survival ever could. My survival would mean every other death was in vain."

Marcus was silent. He closed his eyes.

The Emperor said shakily, "I'm afraid I will have to ask you a favour, Marcus. If you truly care for the greater good, you know what you must do."

Marcus wrapped his right hand around the hilt of the dagger, and looked up at the Emperor. "I know."

* * *

Marcus activated Nocturnal's invisibility spell, and walked out onto the deck of the Katariah. There weren't many soliders on the ship itself, most were patrolling the docks. He walked over to the edge of the ship, facing the distant marshlands of Morthal.

At a strong swim, he could make it to the other side before morning, then be far into the marshes by the time sun broke. He'd be half a province away by the time the alarm was raised. He'd be in Dawnstar by the time they mobilized a search party.

Marcus felt a little guilty. He felt as if he'd acted on the spur of the moment, and done something that might seem unwise in future, but the Emperor's words proved a decent enough comfort. The old man was right, in a way. Sometimes when something is too badly broken, it's better to throw it away and build a replacement, rather than try and fix it. There'd be a lot of political turmoil for the next month or so, but he doubted it would cause much damage. Marcus prayed what he'd done would turn out for the best.

Then he climbed over the railing, and dropped into the water.

* * *

As Marcus rested by the shoreline, close to Dawnstar. As he knelt down to wash his face with the seawater, he heard footsteps approaching. He stood up and turned, to see a Redguard and the same young girl he'd seen in the Sanctuary walking towards him.

"Easy there," the Redguard held his hands up. "We're not looking to attack you."

"You were at the Sanctuary..." Marcus stated to the girl, frowning. "You… you're both from the Brotherhood."

"We are," the girl nodded. "I'm Babette, this is Nazir."

"How did you both survive?"

Babette shrugged. "There's more than one way in and out of the Sanctuary. Those Penitus agents aren't nearly as good at confirming kills as they think they are. You should know."

Marcus crossed his arms. "Why are we talking right now? If you're with the Brotherhood, you should be trying to kill me, and vice versa."

Nazir sighed. He sounded tired, like he was done trying to make sense of what was going on. "A day ago, that'd be appropriate. But… The Night Mother has made it clear to us you're her Listener, and thus, you are the one who ought to lead us. We strayed from the teachings of Sithis under Astrid's guide, and look where that got us. We need to return to the Mother's guidance."

Babette nodded. "I also told Nazir how you saved me. If the Night Mother wishes it so, we should give you a chance. We don't have much of a choice either way, seeing as we're all that's left."

Marcus looked curious. "You want me to lead you? After everything that's happened?"

Nazir looked a token bitter. "It's not optimal, but nothing ever is. You killed some of our friends, but that might just be the price we have to pay for turning our backs on Sithis. We know you killed the Emperor as well, so the idea of our goals aligning isn't too far-fetched."

Marcus looked out at the ocean. This was… odd, yet he had a feeling he wouldn't regret this. A group of skilled assassins would be very useful under his guidance, if he infused a few morals. The Night Mother would just have to learn that Marcus wasn't ok with innocent deaths, and things might just turn out. If the Penitus Oculatus was anything to go by, there were plenty of evils in hard-to-reach places that would serve as adequate targets, should disgruntled citizens learn that there was a group out there willing to step in. And if those disgruntled citizens also learned of a ritual to contact said group...

"Hmmm..." Marcus turned back to face the pair. Let's say I agree. Where is the Night Mother now?"

"We have a place, near Dawnstar. An old Sanctuary that we can rebuild, if you're willing to lead us."

Marcus stared out at the ocean a little more, thinking hard. Then he looked back at the pair, and nodded. "Show me."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: They'll be a big break after this, a chronological gap of about 2-3 months, while everything in Skyrim sort of settles and Marcus gets into routine with all his guilds/factions. It'll also accommodate Marcus' final skill jump, to the point where he knows basically every Thu'um in the vanilla game, and has probably reached the level equivalent of 60 or higher. It'll also contain the trigger needed to push Marcus down a darker path… as you'll see soon enough.**

 **Also, let me know if you guys want Cicero to be alive or not. I intentionally left him out of these chapters because I wasn't sure if he was evil enough to deem worth killing. If you want him in, I'll say he was out of the sanctuary at the time Marcus and the boys stormed in. The final section of this chapter was a bit slip-shod, but there wasn't really much I could do, in terms of such a large motive-shift for so many characters.**

 **Dawnguard next! I've been looking forward to this for about a year now. Thanks to everyone who's been following along. Seems like this story is growing in leaps and bounds these days.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	38. Dawnguard: Prelude

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Prelude – A Looming Darkness

Marcus shifted his legs closer to him, staring into the dancing orange flames of his campfire. The colours reflected in his burning hazel eyes as his thoughts drifted. He thought about the past day, organizing the events into categories in his mind, analyzing what had happened and double checking his memories to ensure no threats had been let loose.

There wasn't much need. It wasn't like he'd cleared out a necromancer den. He'd only killed a few giants and cleared out a troll cave.

That's not to say the trolls and giants weren't threats, but Marcus knew too well that exterminating them was only a temporary solution to a temporary problem. He couldn't kill every giant or hostile animal in Skyrim, and nor should he. The flow of beasts and the like was a natural occurrence, like he'd grown to understand the Dragons to be. Some things were just part of the natural world, for better or for worse. Even Marcus, with all his magical knowledge, Thu'um, and combat prowess couldn't stand against that.

Which brought Marcus back to the same question he'd been asking himself every morning for the last two weeks or so.

 _What should I do tomorrow?_

And it was a question that kept getting harder to answer.

The Dragons were easing up, with plenty deciding to follow under Paarthurnax's wisdom, and plenty more deciding to stay in their reclusive mountains. The remaining hostile ones were coping a beating from the Blades now and again, anyway. The guardsmen in most Holds could deal with the stray threat here and there. The Civil War ceasefire was as wavering as ever, but the actions of Jarl Balgruuf and other like-minded parties were helping it stay stable enough.

Bandits were an ever-present threat, as were rogue mages and the occasional crypt of Draugr, but they weren't as prominent as they had been. Skyrim had been bathed in blood for the last year, and it seemed that some of it may have begun to wash the province clean.

Marcus forced his mind away from such matters, and focused on the tangible things he could achieve. The troll cave he'd cleared out he knew of because of rumors in Ivarstead, and the giants he'd killed were from a bounty. He could go inform Proventus, and the Innkeeper at Ivarstead of the removal of these threats, and it might give them some peace of mind.

Marcus reached into a pocket and pulled out his journal, or his 'to-do' list, rather. Its pages were rather empty, with only a few logistical tasks for the Thieves Guild and the Brotherhood to concern himself with. Trouble would arise in future, as it always had, and he would answer the call, as he always did, but for the moment Marcus was restless, which he didn't want to be.

Because when he was restless, he thought about things. Prolonged introspection was commonplace amongst Dovah, but with a life like Marcus had, with memories that he did, it wasn't pleasant to take a trip down memory lane.

With recent events, of which Marcus forced his brain not to think about, it was even more unpleasant.

Dragging himself back to the present, Marcus told himself he'd head to Whiterun first thing in the morning, turn the bounty in, and maybe brew some potions at Breezehome, seeing as he'd used his previous ones up fighting the giants.

Thinking about Whiterun brought up a few problematic thoughts however. A few people he didn't want to see, for various reasons. There was also someone that didn't want to see him, for a very specific reason. He'd have to make sure he didn't dawdle.

Marcus laid out onto his back and stared up at the sky, waiting for sleep to take him. It took a while. He could see the dark outline of the Throat of the World in the distance, standing proud over Skyrim. His thoughts drifted to three days ago, where he'd visited Paarthurnax on his mountain, following a certain request… or demand, from Delphine.

* * *

Paarthurnax bowed his head to Marcus, as the young man approached. "Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin. Greetings."

Marcus bowed back. "Pruzah haas, Paarthurnax." He turned to Odahviing, who was also seated at the top of the mountain. "Odahviing. Kul sul."

The red Dragon nodded.

"Something in you needing an answer? You have not visited for some time." Paarthurnax asked.

Marcus hesitated. "I… I spoke to the Blades a week ago. Somehow, they learned of you, and your position. They… they say you deserve to die."

Odahviing shifted angrily, but deferred to Paarthurnax for an answer.

The old dragon looked at Marcus curiously. "The Blades are wise not to trust me. Onikaan ni ov. I would not trust another dovah."

Marcus was surprised at this, given Odahviing's presence, but the young red Dragon seemed to affirm Paarthurnax's words.

Marcus asked, "Why shouldn't they trust you? Why would you not trust other Dragons?"

"Dov wahlaan fah rel." Paarthurnax explained, "We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?"

Marcus looked to the side, not finding an answer he felt he could reply with. "I… We were talking about you."

Paarthurnax nodded. "Of course. Trust is only given with… perspective. I can be trusted, we both know this. But they do not. Onikaan ni ov dovah. It is always wise to mistrust a dovah. I have overcome my nature only through meditation and long study of the Way of the Voice. No days goes by where I am not tempted to return to my inborn nature."

Marcus thought hard at this. "I was… not aware Dovah were tempted so much. I thought the temptation for domination was the same as it is for humans."

"What led you to that… 'laat'… Conclusion?"

"The Dragons that followed Alduin. Many have gone into recluse, or otherwise strayed from the same destructive path."

Odahviing chipped in. "That is more due to their fear, outweighing their desire for dominion, Dovahkiin."

"Fear?" Marcus frowned. "Of what?"

"Of you."

Marcus went silent.

Paarthurnax continued. "But to address the Blades' mistrust of me… I ask you this. Zin krif horvut se suleyk. What is better – to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"

Marcus chewed his lip, "I... don't think there's a difference?"

"As I too, believe."

Marcus nodded. He'd never come here with the intention to hurt the old Dragon. He just wanted answers, which he'd received. But with those answers, came another question.

"Do you think my desire for… domination is the same as other Dragons, or just the same as other humans?"

Paarthurnax tiled his large head to the side. "I think that is a question only you can answer. Vahzen ko hi."

Marcus looked down at the ground, remembering all those times he tracked down words of power, climbed mountains to kill Dragons, absorbing their souls to better his understanding of the Thu'um. The times he'd accepted a token of dark power from a daedric lord like Sanguine, whether it be in the form of a flowery staff or something else. How many times had he justified it by proclaiming good moral intentions? Was he right to do so? Would he have achieved any more or less good if he hadn't accepted?

Marcus closed his eyes and sighed. So many questions, and no real way to get answers. The story of his life.

Paarthurnax bowed his head apologetically. "I did not wish to bring you upset. Krosis. I do not know everything."

"Don't apologize, Paarthurnax." Marcus said, giving the dragon a faint smile. "The only architect of my upset is myself. And perhaps Akatosh, in a long-winded way. Ful lingrah."

Marcus inclined his head to both creatures, and began the trip down the mountain. Before long, he reached High Hrothgar. Meditating out in the elements, was Arngeir. The old man stood up as Marcus approached.

"Did Paarthurnax give you the answers you seek?"

Marcus shrugged. "Yeah. Gave me a few more questions though, not the kind that are easily answered either."

Arngeir asked, "What type of questions do you mean?"

"The philosophical sort, about the nature and morality of humans and dragons. And me, of course. Have you located any more words of power?"

Arngeir shook his head. "None that we've heard. You've found most that are easily discoverable. The rest are buried deep, under time and magic, or are simply too far away for us. At this point, you've got as good of a chance to find them as us."

"Is that a side-effect of the Dragon souls? Being more in-tune with the Thu'um?"

Arngeir nodded, "Yes. Amongst other things."

Marcus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Absorbing a dragon soul doesn't just increase your knowledge of the Thu'um. When you've taken the strongest essence of a child of a God into yourself, your body is bound to get stronger, in more ways than one. Surely you've noticed this, at least recently."

Marcus thought for a moment, casting his gaze to the side. He wasn't the strongest-looking individual, appearing to be more or less a token above average. But he lately he'd found his strength to be about double what one would expect. Whether that was because of his intense knowledge of restoration magic and his constant use of it, the dragon souls, or some deeper side-effect of the other-worldly hardships he'd endured, he didn't know.

Arngeir looked at the man in front of him. Marcus' face was twisted into one of deep thought. Such a serious-looking young man. "What has given rise to your curiosity of your own nature? Your own morality?"

Marcus was drawn out of his thought processes, and his eyes went a little anxious as Arngeir asked his question. Flashes of recent memory flicked through Marcus' mind.

A Dragon's roar. A barbed tail flying through the air, the sickening crunch as it connected with flesh.

"I don't want to talk about it," Marcus said firmly.

The greybeard nodded in understanding, before walking forward and placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Do not give yourself undue trouble trying to understand every secret your soul possesses. You have a definite place in this world, without worrying about such things."

"Hmm..." Marcus brushed the old man's hand off his shoulder. "I did..."

Marcus continued walking, walking into High Hrothgar and heading down the mountain.

* * *

Marcus awoke next to his campfire. It had died down to little more than embers overnight. He stood up, kicked some dirt over it to extinguish it completely, before packing his gear and leaving.

The trip to Whiterun didn't take too long, so Marcus still had plenty of daylight to get his affairs in order. He made a beeline for Breezehome, but as he was about to enter, he saw the market up ahead. Standing out in the open, looking at Carlotta's stall, was Ria.

Marcus instantly felt the strong pain of guilt, especially when noticing the swell on her stomach. He hurried inside Breezehome quickly. It wouldn't do for Ria to see him, and burst into tears in the middle of the marketplace. It wasn't anything to do with him, specifically, but because of what Marcus reminded her of. Or who, rather.

Lydia came down the stairs in Breezehome, looking happy to see him. Marcus gave her a tired smile. She rarely wore her armour much these days, but she still looked pretty, as always.

"Marcus," Lydia said warmly, walking up and giving him a brief hug. Marcus didn't return it fast enough.

She released him, "How have you been? It's been a while since you were here last."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Marcus said. "Been busy. Lots of people to speak to, these days. Lots of little things for me to do."

"I would've thought after a year and a half of throwing yourself into trouble, the trouble wouldn't stick around."

Marcus smiled. "Yeah, you'd think so. In some cases you'd be right, in others… not much has changed."

Lydia smiled, a hint of sadness tainting it. "You know, you should spend a little more time here, like you used to. No-one says this house is for nothing but storage and potion brewing."

Marcus sighed. "Say I do, and a Dragon burns a Khajiit caravan the following day out on a nearby road. If I hadn't at least tried to stop it, their blood would be on my hands."

Lydia frowned. "You say that like it's a certainty such a thing would happen."

"It's not a certainty," Marcus replied, taking off his sword and dagger and placing them on a chair. "But it's a possibility, and I'm not going to let fate roll a dice to determine the lives of innocents."

Lydia sat down in a chair, looking forlornly at him. "No-one else I've ever seen, or heard of, has pushed themselves like you do, you know."

"Of course not. The key's in the name. 'Last' Dragonborn, remember?"

Lydia sighed. "Don't play this off, Marcus. I'm being serious. What you're doing isn't healthy."

Marcus groaned. "I don't have time for another one of these discussions, Lydia. And for the record, my physical health is fine."

"I wasn't talking about your physical health."

Marcus snorted, and walked towards the alchemy room. "Yeah, cause the history books and ballads really remember the mental status of their heroes, don't they?"

Marcus pushed open the door to the alchemy room. Just as he was about to enter, Lydia spoke out in a desperate tone, louder than before.

"I know why you're doing this," she said. "Throwing yourself at every threat… daring the world to challenge you…"

Marcus, still facing away from her, replied in a firm voice. "Then you also know you're not going to change my mind."

Lydia looked hurt. "What happened to Erik wasn't your fault."

Marcus turned back to face her, startling the young woman with the pained look in his eyes. "We both know that's not true."

Then he walked inside, closing the door and locking it.

* * *

As Marcus exited Breezehome, he saw a group of three travelers enter through the main gates. Two of them wore basic fur armor, and carried maces. The third wore a heavy black cloak. Something about the group seemed a little 'off' to Marcus at a glance.

As he closed the door behind him, Marcus examined them closer as they moved over the short bridge. The two in fur armor moved… blankly, if that was possible. Like they hadn't actually made a conscious decision to put one step in front of the other. They also seemed to defer to the cloaked individual for orders.

Marcus got a feeling something bad was about to happen. His hand slowly strayed towards his sword. The cloaked individual raised an open-palmed hand to one of the guards to his right, and Marcus could see the white air of frost curling through his fingers.

Marcus had already drawn his sword and was running toward the group when the ice spike launched from the cloaked man's hand into the unsuspecting guard. The guard took it in the centre of his chest, collapsing almost instantly. The man who'd fired the ice spike threw off his cloak, revealing a pair of glowing orange eyes, and a freaky nose. A vampire, clearly. A relatively powerful one, too.

Marcus raised his left hand and paralyzed the first of the men in fur armor, who he now knew would be thralls. He then switched target and fired a powerful thunderbolt at the second one, blasting him backward and disintegrating him before his corpse even hit the far wall. The vampire fired a second ice spike at the second guard at the gate, who, after seeing what happened to his associate, threw himself off the short bridge into the artificial stream below, the shard of ice barely missing him.

As Marcus ran past the paralyzed thrall, he lashed out with his sword and sliced open its throat. The vampire turned to face Marcus, who was now almost upon him. The undead man snarled in anger as he saw what had happened to his two thralls, but didn't look particularly worried.

The vampire raised his sword, a jagged thing made out of a dark metal, and blocked Marcus' overhead swing. The two blades clashed over the combatant's heads, a loud ringing noise filling the air.

The vampire snarled at Marcus, their faces only a foot apart. "Your kind is finished! We cannot lose!"

Marcus stared back, his eyes unyielding, and issued his reply.

"Yol… Tor Shul!"

The fire breath shout wasn't exceptionally powerful, but at such point-blank range it literally exploded the vampire's head. The charred corpse flew backwards, skidding along the ground. A few guardsmen ran over second later, only to see the battle already over.

"Many thanks, Marcus," said one of them, recognizing the Thu'um and assuming the young man's identity. "You sure showed them."

"Hmm..." Marcus looked distracted. He knelt down to inspect the vampire's corpse. If there had been any clues on his body to indicate why he'd decided to attack a city, a letter or the like, it was burned beyond recognition. "Why would a vampire attack Whiterun?"

"Not sure," one of the guardsmen replied. "This isn't the first time though. A similar thing happened three weeks ago, then two weeks before that. Though, those times there were only two."

"Huh..." Marcus thought hard for a moment, before standing up. "If this happens a fourth time, go let my housecarl, Lydia, know. She'll be able to inform me, and I'll be able to put a stop to it. Hopefully, this was just an isolated two events, maybe connected to a displaced coven or something."

"Yes, thane." The guardsmen nodded, and set about cleaning up the mess.

Marcus looked back at the corpses, getting a bad premonition about the entire affair.

* * *

Marcus finished up his affairs in Whiterun, avoiding any more conversations he didn't want to make, before taking a carriage to Ivarstead and then walking to Riften.

As he walked along the shore of the lake, Marcus saw a familiar figure walking in the opposite direction, towards him. The jester outfit looked ridiculously out of place in the wilderness.  
"Oooh!" Cicero gasped in delight. "Listener! What a fabulous surprise!"

The jubilant man danced his way over to Marcus who folded his arms and waited.

"What are you doing here Cicero?" Marcus said, none too patiently. He wasn't a big fan of the psychotic jester, but he served his purpose well and didn't complain, which is more than Marcus had any right to ask.

"One of the contracts you heard from Mother, dear Listener," Cicero said jovially. "It brought me to this little slice of Skyrim."

Marcus asked, "What was the contract?"

"A naughty thug of the Black-briars," Cicero explained, his smile turning sinister. "He crippled a poor fisherman in a shakedown. The wife was none too pleased indeed, asked for a helping hand from us."

"Oh yes," Marcus nodded. "I remember that one. How'd it go?"

Cicero's smile widened. "A knife to the throat in the bathtub. Unseen, silent, and horrendously messy."

Marcus sighed. "You know you don't have to smile so bloody wide when you say that?"

Cicero feigned mock shock. "But Listener! Isn't it important to enjoy what you do as a living?"

"Ugh… fine. Give my regards to the Night Mother."

"Of course, Listener!" Cicero nodded emphatically. "But do be sure to give some regards yourself, in person. You know how Mother gets lonely..."

Marcus nodded. "I'll be heading that way soon enough. Just got some things to take care of in Riften."

Cicero nodded in affirmation, bade Marcus farewell, then continued on his way. He hummed a jaunty little tune as he disappeared. Marcus shivered. Cicero was indisputably loyal, but he still managed to unnerve him.

Marcus continued towards Riften, admiring the lake as he walked around it. The rift was probably his favourite part of Skyrim, aesthetically. The countryside was just so pretty, with the orange trees, and the mix of mountains, forests, and lakes. In another life, he might've liked to live here.

Marcus came up to Riften's gate, and was held up by the guards.

"Hold there," one of them said. "Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."

Marcus reached up and pulled back the hood he'd added to his armour. He'd forgotten he'd even had it up.

The one who'd spoke "Oh, it's you. Sorry, didn't recognize with the hood and all. Give Brynjolf my regards."

"Will do," Marcus nodded, moving to head inside the city. He didn't get a chance.

An arrow struck Marcus in the shoulder, causing him to stumble forward caught off-guard. The two guardsmen drew their weapons, as a small group approached.

As Marcus turned around, he saw it was a similar group to the one from Whiterun. One vampire, two thralls. One thrall had a bow, while the other had a great-axe.

The two guardsmen charged, engaging the second thrall and the vampire. Marcus pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, and drew his weapons. Up the back, he could see the archer thrall nocking another arrow. Marcus spun his dagger around to hold it by the blade, and threw it overarm towards the archer. The blade spun past the combatants and sunk itself into the man's chest, dropping him for good.

The second thrall got taken down by a guardsman, so the Marcus charged at the remaining vampire, and after a brief skirmish, the three men brought the vampire down without serious injury.

"Gods..." breathed the guardsmen who'd tried to extort Marcus. "That's the second time this week. What in Oblivion is up with these vampire attacks?"

"This has happened before?" Marcus asked, his face creasing into a frown.

"Yeah..." nodded the second guardsmen, looking out of breath. "And two weeks before that. Seems those vampire hunters that keep coming through are right about the growing threat."

"Vampire hunters?" Marcus was getting concerned now. He hadn't been to any of the major cities for a few weeks, and it seems a lot of things had been happening.

The first guardsman nodded. "Yeah, surprised that haven't asked you to join up, given how you fight. From what I've heard from carriage drivers, the last two months have seen a huge spike in random attacks, like this one. It was small at first, but they seem to be increasing in frequency, so some people are reforming a group of vampire hunters or something, in an old fort south-east of here. What were they called again..." The guard scratched his head, searching for a name on the tip of his tongue.

"Dawnguard." The other guard said. "They were calling themselves the 'Dawnguard'."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. He remembered the name from a book he'd read, some time ago.

"Dawnguard, eh? Huh."

Marcus turned to face to the south-east. It looks like he had a proper task to write down in his journal, after all.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This is a shorter chapter I wanted to put out just while I gather my thoughts and ideas for the rest of the Dawnguard arc. Hopefully this showcased Marcus' new mentality and whatnot, and hinted to events that have brought rise to this.**

 **For anyone who cares, it's been around in-story 2 months since the last chapter.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	39. Dawnguard: Chapter 1

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 1 – A New War to Wage

Marcus examined the mountain range behind Riften from his little outcrop. According to Brynjolf, the Dawnguard had set up in an old castle situated in some secluded valley, accessible by a crevice in the mountains. It wasn't a whole lot to go on, but Marcus had tracked things with less information.

He'd also taken the opportunity to discuss the matter of Maven Black-briar with Brynjolf. While she had been instrumental in ensuring the guild didn't fall apart during the 'darker' years under Mercer's leadership as a key client, she was no longer responsible for the Guild's prosperity. In fact, she'd made it clear that the Guild owed her a greater debt than Marcus believed was reasonable for helping them through such tough times.

Coupling this with the knowledge that her thugs and subordinates were harassing the townsfolk more than ever, and Marcus felt that the connection between Maven and the Guild was one that would need to be severed in order to maintain the semi-moral image he'd infused into the Guild over the duration he'd been in charge.

Brynjolf was inclined to agree, but stated that Maven wasn't the kind of person they could turn their backs on. Marcus knew this, but didn't disclose his contingency plans just yet, telling Brynjolf just to keep a close eye on her, and inform him if she did anything rash.

Should the need arise, Marcus would call in a little help from the Dark Brotherhood. A few well-placed arrows here and there, maybe a forged letter, and the Black-briar family would be shattered for good. Marcus also believed Aerin could take up the responsibility as the meadery's owner, cutting off another aspect of Maven's power.

He could of course, just walk into their mansion and cut off the head of every person inside, but that seemed a bit too indelicate.

Marcus shook his head to drag himself back into the present. He got distracted too easily these days. Not enough threats to keep him focused. Perhaps that'd change soon.

He climbed down off the rock, and made for the crevice he'd spotted that matched Brynjolf's vague description. Marcus walked up to it, and after a brief glance around, headed through it. It was short, only around 100 metres, and then he was on the other side.

The first thing Marcus saw was a waterfall, flowing off an icy ridge into a small lake. It seemed peaceful enough. In front of the lake, near it's edge, admiring the view, was a young man. Though, not really 'young' in relation to Marcus. He was probably the same age.

Marcus didn't bother to muffle his approach, so the young man turned around as he heard Marcus approach.

"Oh hey there!" The man called out, smiling. "You here to join the Dawnguard too?"  
Marcus nodded.

He said "I'm Agmaer, nice to meet you."

"Marcus, likewise."

They both began walking up the path. Agmaer spoke in nervous tones.

"Truth is, I'm a little nervous. I've never done anything like this before. I hope you… err… don't mind if I walk up with you?"

Marcus frowned slightly, but eventually shrugged. "No. Not really."

"Ok..." Agmaer breathed out. "Hey, uh… don't tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself. Not the best first impression for a new vampire hunter, I guess."

"Is Isran the man in charge?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah, from what I've heard." Agmaer looked Marcus up and down as they walked. "You've uh… you've probably killed lots of vampires already, haven't you?"

Marcus allowed himself a small grin. "Hmm. A couple, yeah."

Agmaer nodded to no-one in particular. "I'm sure Isran will sign you right up. Not sure if he'll take me. I hope so."

Marcus coughed quietly. "Hey, no offense, but you don't really seem the… 'type' for this. Why'd you decide to join the Dawnguard?"

Agmaer looked at his feet, before sighing. "I've heard the rumors around Skyrim. I know something's going on, and I've seen the vampires. I felt I had two choices. I could live in fear of the night, or I could do something to help protect my people."

Marcus blinked. He'd misjudged the young man. There weren't a lot of people who could say something like that and mean it.

Marcus said, "That's quite brave of you, you know. I'm sure Isran will take you."

"Thanks," Agmaer smiled, looking more confident in himself. Marcus was instantly reminded of Erik. It soured his mood considerably.

Marcus changed the subject. "The vampires must be a growing menace, if this many people are noticing them."

"Well, yeah. Haven't you seen the attacks?"

"A few, recently. But I've been out of the major cities for over a month. I was… hunting."

Agmaer nodded. They rounded a corner, and the Dawnguard castle came into view. Both the young men let out a small gasp when they saw it.

"Woah..." Agmaer breathed. "That must be it. Fort Dawnguard. It's bigger than I expected."

Marcus nodded. "I'll say. It's huge. One of the biggest structures I've ever seen, and I've been around."

They continued up the path, looping around the front of the castle. Marcus could see a variety of positions where defenders could fire arrows or drop rocks onto attackers. Much of the path was narrow as well, which would negate the numerical advantage any attackers might have.

Agmaer said, "Where is everyone? This place looks almost deserted..."

Marcus didn't answer, not knowing enough to have a suitable reply. They saw one man, an orc, training in a yard off to the side with a strange kind of weapon. Like a bow, except it was tiny and hand-held. It reminded Marcus a lot of the weapons attached to the arms of Dwemer spheres. He made a mental note to ask about it, later.

They finally got up to the entrance, where another Dawnguard member was standing.

"Here to the Dawnguard?"

The two men nodded.

"Good. Isran will decide if you've got what it takes. Go on in, he's right inside."

Marcus walked forward, Agmaer glancing nervously at him. Marcus pushed open the doors to the castle, and walked inside.

Inside, two men were having a tension-laden talk. One of them wore the same armour as the Dawnguard members outside, which must've been Isran, and the other Marcus recognized as a Vigilant of Stendar.

"Why are you here Tolan?" Isran asked. "The vigilants and I were finished a long time ago."

Tolan replied. "You know why I'm here. The vigilants are under attack everywhere. The vampires are much more dangerous than we believed."

Isran folded his arms. "And now you want to come running to safety with the Dawnguard, is that it? I remember Keeper Carcette telling me repeatedly that Fort Dawnguard was a crumbling ruin, not worth the manpower or expense to repair."

Tolan looked down at his feet.

"And now you've stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my protection?"

Marcus frowned in the shadows, but kept silent. Agmaer looked to him for guidance, but Marcus hardly noticed.

Tolan looked up at Isran, his face a sorrowful mixture of regret and grief. "Isran… Carcette is dead. The Hall of the Vigilants… everyone. They're all dead. You were right, we were wrong. Isn't that enough?"

Marcus' eyes went wide a little. The Hall of the Vigilants had been wiped out? He hadn't heard of that. It must've happened rather recently.

That was… very sad. The vigilants were good people, Marcus knew. They'd been courteous to him when they'd encountered on the road, and they offered him a roof over his head at their Hall whenever he passed through. Plus, they helped removed the more sinister otherworldly threats from Skyrim.

This new news also raised the threat of the vampires. The vigilants weren't an elite fighting force, but they still could handle themselves better than most. To think their base of operations had been entirely wiped out… These vampires were becoming a very serious threat.

Isran bowed his head. "Yes well… I never wanted any of this to happen… I tried to warn all of you. I am… sorry, you know."

Isran turned to see Marcus and Agmaer in the shadows. Marcus stepped forward.

"So who are you?" the older man asked. "What do you want?"

Marcus replied evenly, "I heard you were looking for vampire hunters."

Isran smiled. "You heard right. I'm glad word's finally starting to get around. But that means it won't be long before the vampires start to take notice as well." Isran looked Marcus up and down. "Have you had much combat experience?"

Marcus gave a half-smile. "Does fighting Dragons count?"

"Dragons?" Isran took a step back, "What do you… Oh wait..." The man looked at Marcus' dragonbone weapons, and the interlocking Dragonscales on his armour. "You're the Dragonborn, aren't you? Have to say, not what I expected, but I'm damn glad to see you here."

Marcus didn't waste any time. "What can I do to help?"

Isran nodded. "Ok. I need someone out in the field, taking the fight to the damn vampires, while we're getting the fort back into shape… From what I hear, you're probably the best person in the province for that sort of thing."

Marcus said, "I'm good at finding and killing things, if that's what you mean."

Isran chuckled. "Tolan here was telling me about some cave that the Vigilants were poking around in. Seemed to think it was related to these recent vampire attacks. Tolan, tell him about… what was it, 'Dimhollow'?"

Tolan nodded. "Yeah, that's it. Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald was certain it held some kind of long-lost vampire artifact." Tolan sighed. "We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran. He… was at the Hall, when it was attacked."

Isran took a deep breath. "Okay, that's good enough for me. Go and see what these vampires were looking for in Dimhollow. With any luck, they'll still be there."

Marcus nodded. "Alright. Any idea where it is?"

Tolan scratched his cheek. "Adalvald said it was somewhere North-west of the Hall itself, relatively close by, I think. There's a lot of caves in that mountain range though."

Marcus chewed his lip. "I've been inside most of the caves around there, not so much the ones on the eastern edge, so it's probably around there."

Isran gestured to the space around him. "Feel free to take a look around the fort and take what you like. There isn't much yet, but you're welcome to take what you need."

Tolan nodded. "I'll meet you at Dimhollow. It's the least I can do, to avenge my fallen comrades."

Isran hesitated. "Tolan, I don't think that's a good idea… you vigilants were never trained for -"

"I know what you think of us," Tolan turned angrily to Isran. "That we're soft, that we're cowards. You think our deaths proved our weakness. Stendar grant that you do not have to face the same test and be found wanting!"

Tolan turned to Marcus. "I'm going to Dimhollow Crypt. Perhaps I can be of some small assistance to you."

Marcus sighed. "Alright, fine. Just stay out of sight until I get there, and we'll go in together."

Tolan didn't respond and walked out of the fort. Marcus walked further inside, deciding to have a brief look around before departing. Behind him, he heard Agmaer nervously approach Isran, and begin conversing.

There wasn't a whole lot around Fort Dawnguard, as Isran said. Marcus found a few basic healing potions that were inferior to the ones he carried. He saw a spare 'crossbow', which was the strange weapon he'd seen out the front. It was a neat design, but ultimately inferior to Marcus' destruction magic, so he didn't bother taking it with him. He saw a few sets of armour, which looked cool but didn't offer any upgrades in terms of protection. Marcus left a half-hour later, at around midday, making for Dimhollow Crypt.

* * *

Marcus awoke the following morning next to his campfire on the grasslands outside Whiterun. He felt tired. His standard 7 hour sleep he'd given himself hadn't been enough to shake the weariness he'd begun to feel of late. It seemed more common in the mornings that he practically felt the same way waking up as he had when he went to sleep. It hardly seemed like the rest had been worth doing anyway.

In the distance, Marcus could see the outline of Whiterun, glowing under the morning sun. He could've gone there and spent the night in Breezehome, but… he hardly wanted another pointless argument with Lydia. Her heart was in the right place, but her mind was another matter. Her outlook was shared by too many of his other friends, as well.

They all sounded like ghosts, repeating the same phrases over and over. 'Take a break' 'You try too hard' 'You're being too hard on yourself'. It's as if they just thought he was just a… really successful adventurer, or some kind of storybook hero, but he wasn't.

Marcus understood the reality of his own life, and knew there was no kidding himself. But it was a truth so few could actually accept, and trying to convince those in his life otherwise was exhausting, and ultimately a waste of time.

Marcus looked to the north-west, towards where Dimhollow Crypt would be. He'd reach there by around midday, or a little before, he guessed. He stood up, and kicked a little dirt over the embers of his campfire, before continuing on his way.

* * *

Marcus stopped outside the remains of the Hall of the Vigilants. It was a sorry sight. Originally the building was a bit larger than the regular inn, but now it had been reduced to a pillaged mess. The roof was gone, and the walls were broken down, burnt, and shattered. There were also various holes in the floor, and most of the furniture was ash. There weren't any bodies left, meaning they were either buried or eaten by wild animals. Most likely the later. If Tolan was anything to go by, the remnants of the vigilants weren't in any state to bury their fallen comrades.

It had been a long time since it had all gone down. The bloodstains were faded, invisible to the untrained eye. Marcus felt frustrated he hadn't noticed this growing vampire threat until recently. He'd been in the Reach for the most part, and around the Southern mountains where the Reach melded into the forestry of Falkreath, hunting down Forsworn and rampant spriggans, with the occasional dungeon thrown in. He hadn't visited any inns or cities to catch up on local rumor. And now, it seems others were paying for his lack of foresight, yet again.

But the vigilants themselves had to shoulder some of that blame. They had indeed, 'stirred' up the vampires, though Marcus didn't know why. The vigilants had never seemed too combat-able. Their real worth came in their knowledge of daedra and thus how to locate them. Up against vampires, especially this bolder variant, they hadn't much chance.

 _Can't be helped anymore, though,_ Marcus thought. The best he could do now was avenge the fallen vigilants, and ensure their fate wasn't befallen by too many more. He stood up, and continued on his way, keeping close to the mountains.

After another 30 minutes, he came across a cave, with a considerable amount of evidence of foot traffic around the mouth. Dimhollow, surely. He couldn't see Tolan anywhere, so the man mustn't have got here yet.

Marcus crept inside, drawing his sword silently. As his eyes adjusted, he headed further in.

He came to a cavern, large with stone structures dotted about and a stream running through it. He could see two figures standing over near a door, around a body. There were two other bodies nearby.

Marcus slowly snuck closer, the words of the two figures drifting to his ears.

"These vigilants never know when to give up. I thought we'd taught them enough of a lesson at their Hall."

Marcus gripped his sword tighter, pressing his back up against a stone pillar. These were vampires, then.

The female vampire snorted. "To come in here alone… a fool like the rest of them."

"He fought well though, Jeron and Bresoth were no match for him."

Marcus placed his sword into his left hand, and slowly drew his dagger out in his right hand.

"Hah!" The woman barked. "Those two deserved it. Their bickering had become insufferable."

Marcus rolled out of cover, into the open. The two vampires were right in front of him. Before either one could react, Marcus threw his dagger at the woman, the blade entering the back of her neck and bringing her down with a wet thud. The man snarled, showing his fangs, and drew an axe. Marcus didn't give him a chance to use it, holding up his hand and unleashing a gout of fire.

The vampire screamed as the flames hit him, and tried to run away to cover. Marcus didn't let up, he followed the vampire quickly, the volley of fire continuing until the vampire's screams grew ragged, and then stopped altogether.

Marcus extinguished the fire in his hand, then went to switch his sword back to his right hand. A few pebbles shifted noisily behind him.

Marcus instantly spun around, to take a leaping dog-looking thing straight to the chest. It knocked him to the floor, snarling and snapping at his face. It looked like someone had taken a dog skeleton, and covered it in black smooth muscle, with glowing red eyes to boot. Marcus wrestled with the creature, the hound drooling white frost and repeatedly lunging for his neck. He reached up his hands, and grabbed a hold of its head. With a firm wrench in one direction, Marcus snapped the dog's neck with a loud 'crack'. The beast went limp.

He threw the corpse off him, and picked up his weapons. He poked the dead dog-thing with his sword. It looked like a vampiric dog, for lack of a better description.

"That's definitely new..." he breathed to himself.

He looked around, not wanting to be caught off guard again.

"Laas..." he whispered, his eyes glowing a deep scarlet. Marcus turned in a full circle, not seeing anything else around him, though there were a few aura's a little further down, past the steel gate.

Marcus sheathed his dagger, and healed a few of the scratches on his neck from the hound. He walked over to inspect the body the vampires were discussing. His heart fell as his eyes confirmed what he feared when he heard the vampires conversing. Tolan.

The stubborn man hadn't waited. He'd gone in, warhammer swinging, and had been killed. He'd taken down two vampires, but that was it. A waste of life. The vigilant should've stayed at the Fort.

"Rest well, Tolan," Marcus said, kneeling down and whispering to the body. "May Stendar guide you into his arms."

Then Marcus stood up, and continued further into the crypt.

* * *

Marcus made his way through the majority of Dimhollow Crypt without too much difficulty. Nothing that a few healing spells couldn't fix. He eventually came to a room with different architecture than the rest of the crypt, or any other ruins Marcus had seen, for that matter. It was a small-ish room, with some freaky looking statues of monsters, and a balcony overlooking a huge cavern.

Marcus crept to the balcony, and looked out. In the centre of the cavern was a raised circular platform, about as big as a marketplace, decorated with archways. It was connected to the side of the cavern Marcus was on by a walkway. Below him, Marcus could see four vampires, standing around the dead body of some poor sod in rags.

"Are you sure killing him was wise, Lokil?" A female vampire asked. "He still might have told us something, seeing as we haven't gotten anywhere ourselves with -"

A male vampire, who must have been Lokil, snorted. "He knew nothing. He served his purpose by leading us to this place, now it is up to us to bring Harkon the prize, and we will not return without it."

They continued talking, facing away from Marcus and towards the circular platform.

The young man held his sword in both hands, and stood up. With a small grunt of exertion, he threw himself off the balcony, and fell down on top of one of the four vampires.

Marcus knocked the first vampire to the ground as he landed, burying his sword into the man's chest. A second vampire snapped her head around to see the source of the noise, but Marcus was on his feet in an instant. He pushed at the ground and darted forwards, stabbing the second vampire through her heart.

The third vampire, the one talking to Lokil, snarled and drew a mace. Marcus tossed his sword into the air, and dual-casted a concentrated, powerful paralysis bolt at the vampire. The green bolt struck the woman and she froze instantly. Marcus lunged forward and kicked her in the chest, knocking her backwards over the railing and into the water below. Marcus knew from past experience she'd drown before the spell wore off.

Marcus reached up and caught his sword as it came down just in time to parry a sword strike from Lokil. The two foes dueled for a while, Marcus conserving his energy and testing his opponents skill. You could never be too careful with experienced vampires.

Lokil feinted an attack from the left, before showcasing some of his vampiric speed and thrusting for Marcus' hand, aiming on slicing open the hand. Marcus saw it coming, but didn't manage to get his hand entirely out of the way. The vampire's sword cut through the thin cloth on Marcus' forearm, giving him a decent cut along his wrist. A hinderance when it came to fighting with his right hand, but he was prepared for such an occurrence. He'd trained for it, rather.

With a simple toss, Marcus switched his sword to his left hand, and lashed out at Lokil, slicing the vampire across the chest.

Stunned, Lokil backed off, gaining some distance, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the ever-increasing threat the mortal in front of him posed. Marcus saw the familiar red glow in the vampire's off-hand. Marcus lowered his sword, and breathed in.

"Fus, Ro Dah!"

Lokil wasn't expecting the Thu'um, and was picked up and launched backwards by the blue circle of raw energy. He slammed into one of the archways, and his sword went clattering away. Marcus approached, walking quickly. Lokil hesitated a second too long, glancing back and forth between his sword and Marcus, clearly deciding if he should use magic, or go for his weapon.

Marcus raised his hand and fired an impact lightning bolt, just to stun the vampire long enough for the young man to run Lokil through with his sword.

The vampire's eyes went wide, as if he couldn't actually believe this had happened. Marcus stared back blankly. He'd seen that same look so many times. Then Lokil slumped forward, dead a moment later. Marcus pulled out his sword, wiped the blood off it, and sheathed it.

He looked around, at the large circular platform he was standing on. As far as he could tell, the vampires hadn't found the artifact they were looking for, which means Marcus, and thus the Dawnguard, were still one step ahead of them.

The centre of the area was clear, with markings on the ground. Marcus walked toward the middle, seeing a raised post with a big stone button on top.

 _Hmm…_ Marcus mused to himself, _well, this seems pretty self-explanatory._ He reached out to push the button down.

A spike shot out of the button and impaled him through the hand.

"Motherfucker!" Marcus shouted, ripping his hand off the button and staggering backwards. The button seemed to have reacted to his blood however, as the spike shrunk back into the stone, and a purple aura raced along the ground and lit up the markings on the floor.

Marcus clutched his hand, which was now sporting a hole straight through the middle of it, the size of a coin. It was bleeding pretty heavily. He charged up a concentrated burst of restoration magic in his other hand, and blasted it through himself. It almost sealed up the injury, leaving a ruptured circle of flesh rather than a clean hole. Healing magic was good for reconnecting and repairing flesh, but couldn't just so easily 'replace' a chunk of it out of thin air, so Marcus tore off a strip of cloth from the already torn bit around his wrist, and wrapped it around his hand. It wasn't perfect, but it'd do for now.

It still hurt like hell, though. Marcus was more than a little pissed off.

He examined his surroundings, seeing the purple magic lines on the floor lining up with several braziers around the platform. A few of them didn't line up. Marcus proceeded to shift the unlit braziers around until they all lined up with the purple magic on the floor, and thus all lit up with the same purple fire. He assumed it was some kind of puzzle.

As soon as Marcus pushed the last one into place, the entire platform shook. The stone around the post in the middle retracted, revealing a purple-black light covering the floor around it. Then the whole platform… sunk, a little. Turning into something similar to an amphitheater, with the centre of the platform sinking down and the edges becoming higher.

The post remained where it was, and as the floor sunk down, it revealed a large stone monolith emerging from the purple light.

Marcus' face turned wary, as he'd been in more crypts and dungeons than he bothered to count, and yet he'd never seen anything like this. This was entirely unique.

He circled the monolith, examining it. He reached out to touch the front of it, and as soon as his fingers brushed the stone, the front half creaked downward and sunk into the floor.

Then a woman fell into Marcus' arms.

Marcus eyes took in several things at once. The woman's skin felt very cold. She had an Elder Scroll on her back. Then, as she breathed out and looked up at him, he noticed her bright orange eyes.

Instantly, Marcus dropped her on the stone floor, took a step back, drew his sword, and pointed it at her.

The woman breathed in and out heavily, getting her bearings on her hands and knees. She looked up at Marcus, and at the sword an inch from her throat. Marcus remained still, like a coiled spring.

"Uh… where is..." The woman looked confused, "Who sent you here?"

Marcus looked at her, eyes hard. "Who were you expecting?"

The woman blinked, before breathing in deeply again. "I was expecting someone… like me, at least."

Marcus stated plainly, "A vampire."

"Yes."

Marcus tilted his head to the side, frowning deeply. "I should kill you. It's what any other Dawnguard member would do."

The woman stood up slowly. Marcus let her, but kept his sword ready.

"Dawnguard aren't fond of vampires, are they?" The woman asked rhetorically. "Well… look, if you kill me, you've killed one vampire. But if people are after me, there's something bigger going on. I can help you find out what that is."

Marcus didn't move, but his eyes showed signs of heavy thinking. "What do you mean? Why are you here? Why in Oblivion do you have an Elder Scroll?"

The woman looked exasperated. "Look, it's complicated, and I'm not sure I can trust you."

"You're damn right you can't trust me," Marcus said firmly. "I've got half a mind to kill you and take the Elder Scroll right now, the only reason why I'm not is because I'm really fucking confused right now. You'd better start explaining."

"Look, my name is Serana. My family used to live on an Island to the west of Solitude, I would guess they still do. If you take me there, I can give you the whole story. Right now… I don't think I can."

Marcus groaned, and considered this for a moment, glancing between the ground at his feet and Serana. He was clearly weighing options up in his mind. Then he shook his head. "No. I'm not about to take a vampire with an Elder scroll back to a family of vampires at the drop of a hat. I'm going to contact the leader of the Dawnguard, and if he sends back a message stating he believes the importance of information is greater than securing an Elder Scroll, then I'll take you home."

Serana hesitated, before clenching her jaw firmly. Thoughts raced behind her eyes. Marcus took a few steps to the right, looking at the other side of the cavern. As he took his eyes of the woman, she acted.

She moved with a speed greater than any vampire Marcus had seen before. In an instant, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it, so his sword fell from his grasp. Then Serana pushed him to the ground with incredible strength, pulling out an elven dagger and holding it to his throat as she kept him pinned on the floor.

"Listen to me," she said, eyes flashing angrily. "You have no idea who you're dealing with. You're going to lead me out of this cavern, and then you're going to walk away, and forget this all happened. I'll find my way home myself."

Marcus looked at her with a somewhat surprised look. It passed momentarily, and his face shifted to one of annoyance.

"Feim!"

Marcus turned ethereal, and rolled to the side, the woman's elven dagger passing through his form unhindered. They both stood up, Serana completely bewildered as to what had happened. Marcus lashed out with a kick that hit her hand and knocked her dagger away, his form turning normal again as his foot struck her. He then pulled out his own dagger, grabbed her by the shoulder, and pinned her to one of the archways on the platform, keeping the blade close to her throat.

"Stop it," Marcus said as Serana struggled. "You're scared and confused, I get it. I **do.** But fighting me is your worst option right now. Calm down, and do as I say. If Isran says your words are worth checking out, then we'll go with your plan. Ok?"

Serana looked angrily at the man, but after a glance at his dagger, she nodded slowly.

"Good." Marcus released her, and sheathed his dagger as a sign of trust.

"What if this 'Isran' decides against me?" Serana asked, rubbing her throat. "What if he decides you should take the scroll?"

Marcus replied plainly, "Then I'll take the scroll, and let you go. I won't kill you unless you give me a good reason."

"What makes you think you'd be able to?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't pursue that line of thinking. Believe me. I could."

Serana studied him,. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"I could say the same thing. Guess we'll both need a little faith."

She looked at him warily. To her, he was a complete unknown quantity, and she wasn't sure if attempting another fight was a good idea. Best to follow along, for now.

Marcus picked up his sword and sheathed it. He glanced over at the vampire woman, and picked up her dagger. "Don't do anything stupid," he said as he tossed it over to her.

Serana caught her weapon, and glanced at her… captor? Guide? She didn't know what to call him.

"What's your name?" she asked, sheathing the blade.

He looked back at her, and nodded. "Marcus."

 _Marcus…_ she thought, looking him up and down. The name suited him. He looked like a 'Marcus'.

"Very well Marcus," Serana said evenly, tilting her head to the side. "Lead on."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter is a bit later than I planned, and a bit shorter. Sorry about that, but I had a lot of important personal stuff this last week. I won't be skimping on the quality of these chapters either. Often, I might go a day without writing, then come back and do nothing but proof-read for a day so I know I've got the interactions and everything the way I want them. Sorry if this eats into the time it takes for me to upload, but covering Dawnguard is something I've wanted to do for years. I want to do it right.**


	40. Dawnguard: Chapter 2

A Doom Driven hero: Dawnguard Chapter 2 – A girl named Serana

Serana raked in a hungry breath of air. "Ah… it's so good to breathe again." She looked up at the snowy sky. "Even in this weather, it's better than the cave."

They'd just exited Dimhollow Crypt from its back exit, emerging into a snowy woodland on the southern side of the mountain range.

"Quite," Marcus agreed. "There's nothing like a breath of fresh air after spending a while in a dusty crypt."

Serana looked back at him. "What now?"

Marcus looked around at his surroundings, getting a rough estimate to his location. "Like I said, I want to contact Isran, the Leader of the Dawnguard, to figure out what he thinks I should do about you."

Serana frowned, reminded of the fact she was essentially a captive, or an 'asset' in a very loose sense. "Are you not capable of making decisions yourself?"

"When it comes to Elder Scrolls, I'd rather get a second opinion."

Serana muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Serana crossed her arms. "What if this 'Isran' decides you should kill me?"

Marcus shrugged. "I'll cross that bridge if I come to it. This wouldn't be a problem if you'd just hand over the scroll, but that's apparently unreasonable."

Serana looked to the side. "Where are you taking me, then?"

"I've got a place in mind. Follow."

Marcus walked down through the snowy woodland, Serana following suit. Marcus checked behind him every minute or so to double check she was still there. He'd be able to tell if she decided to run, and he'd be able to track her down even easier, but there was no reason to let her know that.

Serana got bored after a while, seeing tree after tree go past. She briefly wondered if Marcus knew where he was going, as there was no discernible landmarks.

"That magic you used back there," Serana remarked. "In the cave, that is. Was that the Thu'um?"

Marcus looked back at her with a mildly curious look. "What do you know about the Thu'um?"

"It's a form of magic used by ancient nords, I think. Uses words of power."

Marcus shrugged. "You're almost correct."

"I also know it takes decades for anyone to learn."

"That's also almost correct."

Serana frowned. "You used two words. The ghost one, then the purple one that weakened the Draugr. How are you able to know them?"

Marcus looked up at the sky through a clearing in the trees, his mind mostly elsewhere, clearly getting his geographical bearings. "Well… it takes about a decade on average to learn a shout. How old do you think I am?"

Serana looked him up and down. He had a 'weathered' look to his face, and his eyes in particular, but the rest of him wasn't old. He looked rather young, come to think of it. Really young. Not even mid-twenties. Probably the same age as she looked.

"I don't know." Serana shrugged. "Early twenties?"

Marcus nodded, gesturing in a 'there you go' fashion. "See? Two shouts, and two decades. That checks out."

Serana tilted her head sideways. "I don't think you're telling me the truth."

Marcus chuckled. "Gosh, I wonder how that feels."

Serana kept quiet. She knew he didn't have any reason to tell her anything, but it was still annoying. That said, she hadn't done a whole lot to garner his trust.

They walked for almost another hour in silence, until the trees separated and they came to the remains of a large wooden building, pressed up against the side of a mountain.

"What's this place?" Serana asked.

Marcus walked up to the structure, and gestured inside. "The remains of a Hall of Vigilants. If nothing else, it's a landmark. It'll make what I have in mind a little easier."

"And what might that be?"

"You'll see."

Serana walked inside and sat down on the one remaining chair in the place, near a broken table. Marcus walked to the edge of the structure, and faced the sky. He took a deep breath.

"Raan… Mir Tah!"

White energy burst from his lips, traveling out into the sky and fading. Serana jolted slightly at the loud noise. Marcus turned away from the outside, and leaned against one of the sturdier walls.

"Another shout..." Serana muttered. "Three words this time too. How the hell do you know so many?"

"I'm a quick learner." Was all Marcus said.

A few seconds later, a large hawk flew down and landed at Marcus feet. He raised his eyebrows in half-surprise. "Huh. That was quick."

Marcus knelt down and picked up the hawk, putting it on his shoulder. The bird didn't seem to mind, just looking at the young man intently.

Marcus took out a small piece of paper, and using a bit of charcoal nearby, scribbled a short message onto the paper, then tied it to the bird's foot. He then called a little magic into his hand, and released it into the hawk. The bird shook its head a little, initially confused, then it took off to the south-east.

"What was that?" Serana asked.

Marcus nodded in satisfaction. "A little illusion spell. I showed it a mental image of Fort Dawnguard, so it'll go there, deliver the message, and return a reply. Hopefully."

"How did you know that'd work?"

Marcus shrugged. "I did it once before. Some organizations use the same concept, but they have to train the birds. My shout negated the need for that."

Serana groaned in frustration. "You are… posing me a lot of questions."

Marcus sighed, and sat down on the floor, against a wall, facing her. He looked at her closely. She wore a strange set of armour, like a mixture between a light armour, mage robes, and a dress. He wasn't sure if it was a practical set for her to wear or not. She had shoulder-length, black hair, braided in an ornate fashion. Her eyes stood out on her pale face, two burning orbs of orange, hinting of an animalistic hunger underneath. As far as most vampires went, she looked rather 'refined', if such a thing existed.

Marcus sighed. "Well, how about this: You answer one of my questions, and I answer one of yours."

Serana chewed her lip, and eventually nodded. "Ok. Deal. You start."

Marcus didn't hesitate. "Where did you get the scroll?"

Serana shook her head with the same lack of hesitation. "Not answering that. Ask another question."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Ok, how long were you locked in that cave?"

Serana thought hard for a moment, brow furrowing. "That's… a good question. I can't really tell, though I feel like it's been a long time. Who is Skyrim's High King?"

"Uh… that's actually a bit of a matter of debate. You'd probably get a different answer depending on who you spoke with."

Serana chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, wonderful. A war of succession. Good to know the world didn't get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders?"

Marcus shrugged. "It's not a war anymore. There's a shaky ceasefire in place. The Empire was on one side, supporting Jarl Elisif of Solitude, but many in Skyrim were loyal to Ulfric Stormcloak."

Serana blinked. "Empire? What empire?"

"The Empire… from Cyrodiil..." Marcus said slowly.

Serana looked stunned. Her breath hitched in her throat. "Cyrodiil is the seat of an Empire? I must have been gone longer than I thought… Definitely longer than we planned. I really need to get home so I can figure out what's happened..."

Marcus looked dumbstruck for a moment, then burst out laughing. He actually shook with resounding laughter, for the first time in ages. He clutched his sides and fell sideways onto the scorched wooden floor. After a few more second, he quietened down, and wiped a tear from the side of his face. "You're… you're actually..." he had a bit of trouble finding the breath to say anything.

He looked up at Serana, seeing her semi-indignant face, and promptly burst into laughter again. Despite the situation, and his present company, he just found it so funny.

Eventually, he subdued himself to choke out a sentence. "You're from before the second Era… You're thousands of years old. Your family sure must be missing you, good thing I sent a hawk instead of informing Isran in person."

Serana looked shocked. "How… how many Era's are there?"

Marcus wiped his face. "Well, we're a decent way into the fourth at the moment."

"How… how long does each Era last?"

"At least 800 years, the first lasted over 2000."

Serana's eyes went wider than dinner plates. There hadn't even been officially a 'first era' when she'd been locked away.

Marcus sat upright, still chuckling. "You were surprised that there's even an Empire in Cyrodiil to begin with, so that'd mean you're from before the Alessian Empire as well. You look good for someone over 3000 years old."

Serana blinked. "Just how much history have I missed?"

Marcus smiled. "More than I could give you in a single sitting, that's for sure. Still, you answered my question well enough. Your turn."

"Ok..." Serana placed a hand on her cheek and thought hard. "How do you know so much about the Thu'um?"

Marcus shook his head. "I'm going to keep that to myself, for the time being. You withheld the information about the scroll, after all."

"Ok… What happened to this building we're in right now?"

Marcus said calmly. "You happened."

"Excuse me?"

"You. Vampires. The previous inhabitants of this place, called the 'Vigilants of Stendar,' stirred up the vampire population, and got slaughtered. Then the same vampries began attacking almost every major settlement in Skyrim."

"Really? I… that doesn't sound like how we usually act."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "It hasn't happened before now, that's for sure. Well, that takes care of my next question. You mustn't know about why the vampires are attacking indiscriminately."

Serana shook her head. "You'd have as much of an idea as much as I do."

They lapsed into silence for a bit, each thinking. Marcus kept an eye on the sky. The hawk would travel fast, but it was a long way to Fort Dawnguard. It wouldn't be back till late evening.

Serana asked. "Is that why you brought me here? To rub my race's crimes in my face?"

"No, I brought you here because it's the only distinguishable landmark for ages around, so the hawk can return easier. Though, the idea isn't a bad one."

Serana snorted. "Not every vampire is an immoral killer."

Marcus replied evenly, "I've been around Skyrim a lot, and I've only ever met two vampires that weren't immediately hostile to me. One's a court mage, and the other's a little girl. Both of them are still pretty damn sinister, and exceedingly dangerous."

"Yeah well..." Serana broke off into incoherent mumblings. She rested her head on her hand, thinking. Marcus shuffled his legs closer to him, and wrapped his arms around them.

Serana asked, "What's the current date? Exactly, I mean."

"202nd year of the fourth Era. I think it's the 7th of First Seed."

"By my blood..." Serana whispered. It had been such a long time… how had no-one found her before now?

They lapsed into silence for a few hours. The cold didn't bother Serana, but she was surprised by how unfazed Marcus seemed by it. His armour didn't look too warm. One would've thought he'd be freezing in the snow.

She asked him a few more questions about recent history. Marcus answered as best he could, not seeing any reason to deny her such information. He was no historian though, and made it clear he could be hazy on a few details.

As the sun began to dip behind the mountains, the hawk came back, with a different piece of parchment on its leg. It had returned quicker than Marcus anticipated. Isran must not have hesitated with his reply.

Marcus unravelled the paper from the hawk's leg, Serana watching him closely. The bird flew off as Marcus ran his eyes over the words. It was straightforward enough.

' _Take her home, learn what you can, report back.'_

Serana eyed Marcus warily. "What does it say?"

Marcus looked up, and handed her the piece of paper. "You're in luck."

Serana read the words, and visibly relaxed. "Ok. Good. Finally."

Marcus brushed some snow off his hair, and stretched. "Let's get going. You don't have any qualms about traveling through the night, do you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not."

"Let's move, then."

* * *

The two didn't talk too much as they walked. Marcus kept clear of any towns or settlements, opting for the fastest possible route to their destination. Occasionally he had to ask for general directions to Serana's home, which begged the question as to why he was leading, and not her. Still, he didn't question it for the most part, and continued in an efficient fashion.

As they came to the top of the mountains and hills south of Solitude, they could see the western ocean laid out. It was rather foggy, as usual, with snow filling the air. Marcus couldn't see anything out on the ocean, and briefly wondered what Serana's home actually was.

"Tell me about your home," he said. "What's it like?"

Serana looked somewhat surprised at his question. "Oh, well… It's on an Island near Solitude, not too far from the coast. Hopefully we can find a boat to take us there."

"Did you always live there?"

"Yes. It's my family home. Not the most welcoming place, but depending on who's around, I'll be safe there."

Marcus raised an eyebrow as they began walking down the mountain path. "What do you mean by that? Someone you don't want to see?"

Serana chewed her lip, debating internally what to tell him. "No… it's just, my father and I… we don't really get along." She rolled her eyes at her own statement. "Ugh, saying it out loud makes it sound so… common. 'Little girl who doesn't get along with her father.' Read that story a hundred times."

Marcus nodded. "Hmm. Well, I'm not exactly one to judge. How far along the coast is it?"

Serana pointed roughly toward the area she remembered. In a few thousand years, the coastline had changed a bit so she made it clear her words were to be taken with a grain of salt. Marcus had located places and objects with less before, so he wasn't too worried.

After a while, just before dawn was about to break, they came to a small jetty. Marcus, if he squinted hard, could see a small island in the distance. It was obscured pretty heavily by fog though, and he could hardly make it out.

Serana coughed quietly. "Er… this is the part where we usually get in the boat. You with me?"

"Hmm?" Marcus started. "Oh, yeah, sorry."

He walked over to the jetty, seeing a small rowing boat there. He looked over at the young woman. "Who's rowing?"

Serana crossed her arms. "Not me."

"Come on, you're the one wants to get there."

Serana half-smiled, and gestured with mock sadness at her lithe body. "I'm not built for manual labor, I'm afraid."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Get in."

* * *

"By Akatosh..." Marcus breathed, standing on the shoreline of Volkihar Island, staring up at the castle. It was easily the biggest building he'd ever seen in his life. Castle Volkihar was the size of a small mountain, it seemed, stretching so high Marcus had to crane his neck to see the top of it.

Architecturally wise, it was imposing as well. The Castle was made almost entirely out of black stone, with an obtrusive, blocky design. High above, he could see birds circling. Strange, black birds, with white heads.

Marcus looked back at Serana. "This… this is your home?"

She nodded. "This is it. Home sweet… castle."

"Why didn't you tell me it was so huge?"

Serana shrugged, looking at her feet. "I… I didn't want you to think I was one of those… you know, the women who just sit in their castle all day? I don't know. Coming from a place like this, well… it's not really me. I hope you can believe that."

Marcus frowned. "Why would you care what I think?"

Serana shrugged again.

"Hmm…" Marcus looked at the castle again. "It's pretty impressive, though."

"It's something all right."

They walked up a little way, and Marcus began to feel a token… nervous. Whoever or whatever was in there, it wouldn't be an easy feat to overcome it. If things went south, who knows what might happen. Castles weren't typically… 'empty' places, and he doubted this particular castle's inhabitants would be a pushover.

When they were halfway across the bridge, Serana reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, before we go in there..."

Marcus turned around. "What is it?"

"I wanted to thank you for getting me this far, but after we get in there, I'm going to go my own way for a while."

Marcus frowned. "There's not really any need to thank me, I didn't do this just for you, you know."

"Yeah," she nodded. "I know. Also, while your friends at the Dawnguard would probably want to kill everything in here, I'm hoping you can show some more control than that."

Marcus shrugged. "I'll try. Don't expect me to do anything I don't want to do, though."

"I won't… but try to keep a lid on your anti-vampire tendencies. They… won't do you any favors here. Once we're inside, just keep quiet for a bit, let me take the lead."

"Hmmm..." Marcus thought for a moment. "Ok. We'll do it your way."

Serana took point, leading the way up to the gate. A man behind it, upon seeing her, exclaimed loudly to open the gate, for 'Lady Serana had returned'. Marcus kept quiet, following her inside.

Immediately inside, Marcus was hit with a strong smell of dust and blood. A high elf stood just inside the door, and he took an angry step forward as the pair entered.

"How dare you trespass here!" He said angrily.

Serana pulled back her hood.

"Wait… Serana? Is that truly you?" The elf's eyes went wide.

She nodded. "It is, Vingalmo."

"I cannot believe my eyes!" Vingalmo turned and ran further into the castle, going to the top of a staircase and shouting into the area below. "My Lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!"

Serana glanced at Marcus. "I guess I'm expected."

"I guess you are," he replied.

Serana walked towards the stairs, Marcus following at a short distance. She walked down the stairs into the large hall that awaited her. Marcus walked to the top of the stairs, and looked down. What he saw sickened him, and concerned him greatly.

Marcus saw a huge room, lined with tables, and full of vampires. They stood at the edges, and sat at the tables. The smell of blood was so strong it made Marcus' stomach churn. Barely-alive bodies of thralls lay on the table, their wrists and necks ripped open from repeated drinking. Ornate potions of blood lay on the tables, along with bloodied bones on silver platters. Most eyes were on Serana, as she walked into the centre of the tables, where a tall man in regal armour awaited her. Marcus walked down the steps, and clung to the shadows at their base.

 _This is bad…_ Marcus thought to himself. While he wouldn't consider himself an expert on it, the… 'aura' of power in that room was immensely strong. Each one of these vampires was incredibly old, and incredibly powerful. There was no way he was getting the scroll out of this place if these vampires decided they wanted to keep it.

 _This is really, really bad…_ Marcus thought again. If these were the individuals behind the vampire attacks, they were a significantly larger threat than anything he could've imagined.

The man in regal armour held his arms out wide as Serana walked closer. "My long-lost daughter returns at last. I trust you have my Elder Scroll?"

Serana sighed in an exasperated tone as she approached. "After all these years, that's the first thing you ask me? Yes, I have the scroll."

There were excited murmurings from the vampires at the tables.

Serana's father smiled at her. "Of course I'm delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?" He raised a hand and placed it thoughtfully under his chin. "Ah… if only your traitor mother were here, I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike."

Marcus was surprised to hear this. Sounded like there was some serious family issues going on.

Serana's father turned to the gloom where Marcus was, and gestured. "Now tell me, who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?"

Marcus walked forward out of the dim light, into full view of the gathered vampires. He felt similar to how cattle must feel at an auction… vulnerable, for the first time in a while. The feeling made him grow a token angry. A deeper part of him hated feeling vulnerable.

Serana turned to face Marcus, choosing her words carefully. "This is… my savior. The one who freed me."

Marcus blinked, surprised. 'Savior' is not the word he'd have used. Serana was deliberately selecting words that would decrease the chances of a fight, which was also surprising.

Serana's father stepped forward to address him. "For my daughters safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me, what is your name."

Marcus stared back darkly. Despite the situation he was in, he'd be damned if he treated the leader of a vicious vampire cult with 'manners'.

"You first."

The hint of a frown touched Harkon's face. "I am Harkon, lord of this Court." His voice was loud and commanding. "By now, my daughter would have told you what we are."

"You're vampires."

Harkon grinned, showing his fangs. "Not just vampires. We are among the oldest and most powerful vampires in Skyrim. For centuries we lived here, far from the cares of the world. All that ended when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most."

 _Huh… the scroll or your daughter?_ Marcus thought to himself.

He crossed his arms. "Are you the ones behind all the vampiric aggression in Skyrim of late?"

Harkon's grin widened. "Well… not directly..."

Marcus shook his head in contempt. "What happens now?"

Harkon pointed at Marcus. "You have done my a great service, and now you must be rewarded. There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter."

Marcus awaited apprehensively. He didn't like the sound of this.

"I offer you my blood," Harkon said theatrically. "Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach, and you will never fear death again."

"And if I refuse?" Marcus folded his arms, leaning on his back foot.

Harkon frowned. "Then you will be prey, like all mortals. I will spare your life this once, but you will be banished from this castle, never to return."

Marcus glared darkly around the room, seeing all the faces of the vampires, blood-smeared and wild-eyed staring back at him. His hands clenched into fists. Near the corner of his vision, Serana's face became a frown, as she wondered what was going on behind the man's eyes.

Marcus stepped forward to Harkon. "You should know, putting aside the moral sickness of what you offer, I don't care for being a lion among men, seeing as I'm already… something else."

Harkon snorted, then spread his arms wide. "So you still need convincing? Behold the power!"

The man began to convulse, his arms scratching at his chest. Blood rushed out of the pores on his skin, covering his body. Then he… exploded, and a horrific creature akin to the gargoyles Marcus had fought earlier stood before him.

It was like a cross between a gargoyle and a late-stage vampire. Pale skin stretched over raw muscle and thick bone, with wings and long talons. Dark eyes, and long fangs. Marcus' experienced eyes instantly saw the form as a true threat in combat, and that was excluding magic and any other abilities Harkon might have in this form.

Marcus took a step back, as Harkon reared upwards and levitated a foot above the ground. He towered over the young man.

"Now..." Harkon said in a low, dangerous voice. "Make. Your. Choice."

Marcus looked at the monster in front of him, a spectacle that would make a lesser man grovel on the ground in terror. Immense power radiated from the form. If Marcus accepted, he knew he'd gain an intense power that'd make him one of the strongest individuals in Tamriel, when coupled with his already-existing knowledge of the Thu'um. He'd be nigh unstoppable.

This only helped make Marcus' decision.

The young man took a step forward to stand very close to Harkon. He set his jaw and stared undaunted into the monster's eyes.

"I refuse. Go fuck yourself."

A gasp went through the crowd, as everyone gathered couldn't believe what Marcus had said. In the corner of his vision, Marcus noticed that even Serana was surprised.

Harkon's eyes flared with fury, and his clearly had great difficulty suppressing it. "So be it..." Harkon growled. He summoned purple magic into his hand. "You are pathetic prey, like all mortals. Begone!"

Harkon fired an orb of purple magic at Marcus, and the young man felt himself begin to be transported elsewhere. He glanced sideways at Serana, their eyes locking for a moment. Then he was gone.

* * *

Marcus emerged back into the valley of Fort Dawnguard with a heavy heart. This wasn't going to be a short quest. It wasn't going to be an easy one either. The vampires were stronger than he'd planned for, with more organization than he'd planned, and now they had an Elder Scroll.

Elder Scrolls weren't particularly dangerous on their own, but they brought knowledge of greater things, and allowed people to access those greater things. The scroll he'd been wrapped up with involving Alduin wasn't much more than a giant rod in the hands of a fool, but through it, Marcus was able to learn one of the most powerful shouts ever created. And now, another one had surfaced, with vampires having access to whatever secrets it contained.

The whole situation was bad, and Marcus tried not to blame himself too much for it. He'd done what he could, with the information he had. Even more so, he'd tried to find out more information to better govern any decisions he had to make. It was just… bad luck, that decided to put him in such a sticky situation. He still wished he could've acted differently, maybe insisting on 'safeguarding' the scroll from Serana.

If only… could've, would've, should've. The story of his life, looping around and around. In fact, such was the threat these vampires posed, Marcus imagined this would probably be his last hurrah. One way… or another.

Marcus made his way up the path to the Fort, only for the sounds of battle to slowly reach him. He broke into a run, and came up behind a small group of vampires fighting their way toward the Fort's front door. Isran and the orc were engaging them, keeping them held in place.

Marcus ran up behind a thrall and impaled him through the chest with his sword, pushing him to the ground then wrenching the blade out. He then turned blasted a second with a thunderbolt from his left hand, and cut the head off a vampire who was halfway through turning around to see what had attacked their party in the rear. The remaining two vampires turned around to face Marcus. Isran took the opportunity to bash in the skull of one, while Marcus dueled with the second and brought him down after a feint with his sword, and a quick stab with his dagger.

Isran sighed, and put his hammer on his back, looking at the corpses. "Look at this… I should've known it was only a matter of time before they found us. It's the price we pay for openly recruiting. We'll have to step up our defenses."

Marcus nodded in agreement, wiping some blood off his sword.

Isran looked up at him. "I don't suppose you have some good news for me about the Dimhollow woman business."

Marcus bit his lip. "Not exactly."

"Damn..." Isran sighed. "Well, what did you find out?"

"The woman is a daughter of a powerful vampire lord. He owns a castle filled with other vampires. They have the scroll."

"They what?!" Isran shouted. "And you didn't stop them when you got there?" He took an angry step toward Marcus and began yelling in his face. "You didn't think to secure the scroll before they took it?"

Marcus shoved Isran back a pace. "You think I wouldn't have if I could? I never got a chance, by the time I'd learned anything about the situation, it was too late."

Isran snorted angrily. "You're the Dragonborn, if you had any brains, you could've killed them all and brought the scroll back."

"Don't patronize me, Isran." Marcus said firmly. "There was around 20 vampires in one room alone, and the Lord himself was stronger than any single person I've ever met. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"By the divines..." Isran muttered. "This can't get much worse. This is more than you and I can handle."

"We have to do something." Marcus affirmed.

Isran rolled his eyes. "Well of course we do. I'm old, not stupid. It's just… we're going to need some help."

Isran turned and began walking back up the Fort, with Marcus following beside him.

Isran began, "If they're bold enough to attack us here, then this may be bigger than I thought. I have good men here, but… there are people I've met and worked with over the years. We need their skills, their talents, and their knowledge if we're going to survive this. If you can find them, we might have a chance."

Marcus nodded. "Ok. Who are these people and where can I find them?"

Isran's face shifted to a grim smile. "Right to the point, aren't you? Good. Not like those fools in the order… We need to keep it small. Too many people, and we'll draw even more unwanted attention to ourselves."

Marcus nodded again, waiting for Isran to continue.

"We'll want Sorine Jurard. Breton girl, whip-smart and good with tinkering. Fascination with the dwemer, and their weapons in particular. Last I knew, she was out in the Reach, convinced she was going to find the biggest dwemer ruins yet."

"Sounds like a proper asset," Marcus said truthfully. Skyrim didn't have many engineers, so they were a valuable sort. Plus, she'd have to be a borderline genius to make sense of anything Dwarvish. "You sure she'll help us?"

Isran nodded. "Might need a little convincing, but if half the rumors I've heard about you are true, that shouldn't be an issue. You'll also want to find Gunmar. Big brute of a nord, hates vampires almost as much as me. Got it into his head years back that his experience with animals would help. Trolls in particular. Last I knew he was out searching skyrim for more beasts to tame. Bring the two of them back here, and we can get started on coming up with a plan."

Marcus said, "Ok, take care while I'm gone. Those vampires aren't going to let up."

"You just worry about yourself."

Marcus found Sorine in a valley in the reach. She was so engrossed in her work on a strange dwarven structure jutting out of the ground that she didn't even notice him walk up behind her until he got close. She was a shortish woman, with a pretty, rounded face and inquisitive eyes. She was muttering about gyros as he approached.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Um… hello?"

Sorine turned around. "Oh, hi. You haven't seen a sack full of dwarven gyros lying around, have you?"

"No?" Marcus frowned, curious as to why that was her first question to a random stranger in the middle of the wilderness. "Um. Isran sent me. He needs your help. We, need your help."

"Isran? Wants me?" She shook her head. "No, you must be mistaken, he made it very clear the last time we spoke he had no interest in my help. He said some very hurtful things to me beofre I left… I find it hard to believe he's changed his mind."

Marcus sighed, and sat down on a nearby rock. "Listen, Sorine. The vampire problem that Skyrim is dealing with is ten times worse than anyone knows. They have an Elder Scroll."

Sorine jumped. Her eyes grew a little wider. "I… well, that's actually something I never anticipated. I'm not sure what they'd do with it, but in this case Isran is probably correct in thinking it isn't good."

"It really, really isn't." Marcus said, nodding. "The Elder scrolls aren't to be taken lightly. I've dealt with them before, and as a friend told me, 'The gods themselves would hesitate to meddle with such things'. We really are going to need your help."

Sorine looked the young man up and down, chewing on her lip. "Ok. If nothing else, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to learn more about what's going on. But I can't abandon what I've been working on here, it's too useful."

Marcus sighed. "Fine. What do you need me to do?"

Marcus helped her with her dwarven tinkering, stealing a gyro back off some crabs and assisting the woman with her research until she said she was confident to finish by herself. Marcus gave her the directions to Fort Dawnguard, then left for Gunmar's last known location, which he'd gleaned from a carriage driver.

Getting Gunmar on board was a similar deal. Marcus explained him the situation, helped him out with his current dilemma, then told him where to head to get to Fort Dawnguard. Marcus spent a little extra time at Riften, seeing if Brynjolf or Delvin had any extra information about the vampires. There was nothing they knew that Marcus didn't already, so he thanked them and headed off.

They seemed sad to see him go, but Marcus said it couldn't be helped. The Guild could basically run itself without him, anyway. They only called on him when there was serious issues that needed to be dealt with personally. The vampires were a more pressing threat.

Marcus made his way into the valley, seeing an increased amount of foot traffic along the snow. That was a good sign, as it meant Isran was finally getting some more recruits, and probably had already restored the defenses of the Fort. Some good news, finally.

As Marcus entered through the front door of the Fort, he saw Sorine and Gunmar standing just inside, in the large circle. Around the area, gates had been raised to prevent anyone who entered from accessing further inside the building. A new addition, certainly. Though, it begged the question as to why the gates were currently raised.

"Oh, you're here too." Sorine said, turning to face Marcus. "We just arrived, ourselves."

Gunmar looked up at Isran, who was standing on the second floor looking down at them warily.

"All right Isran," Gunmar said, "you've got us all here. Now what do you want?"

Isran barked back. "Hold it right there."  
All around the circular entrance area, a bright golden light flooded up from the floor. It washed over the three figures, and then sunk back down through the grates.

"What the hell was that?" Marcus called out. It had felt rather weird, like swimming in honey for a few seconds.

Isran smiled grimly. "Just making sure you're not vampires. Can't be too careful. So, welcome to Fort Dawnguard. I'm sure Marcus here told you about what we're up against. Powerful vampires, stronger than any we've seen before, and with an Elder Scroll. If anyone's going to stand in their way, it's us."

Sorine put her hands on her hips, looking up at the man. "This is all well and good, but do we actually know anything about what they're doing, or what we do now? What's our course of action?"

"We'll get to that. For now, get acquainted with the space. There's sections further in for your little side projects."

Isran turned and stared down at Marcus with a cold look. "And in the meantime… we're going to get to the bottom of why a **vampire** showed up here looking for you, Marcus. Come up, and we'll have a little chat with it, shall we?"  
Marcus' face dropped. His mind raced with possibilities. He couldn't think of any vampire that would want to track him down, least of all by coming here. Babette wouldn't come, she'd just send a messenger. Marcus couldn't actually think of any other vampires that he knew, apart from Sybille, but she never left Solitude. For a vampire to come here, they might as well just throw themselves off a cliff. They were lucky the Dawnguard hadn't attacked them on sight.

Marcus ran towards the stairs, and headed up to the second level of the Dawnguard Fort. He walked around the edge of the entrance overlook, and rounded a corner into what could only be described as an interrogation room. The equipment was rusty, and clearly hadn't been used in a long time, thankfully.

Then, without saying a word, Isran opened a door and led Marcus into another room. Inside, standing there with an inkling of a sheepish smile on her face, was Serana.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Lots of dialogue in this chapter. That'll probably be the norm to be honest. With the Dawnguard arc, I want to focus more on the relationship between Marcus and Serana, and how it develops. The only real way to do that is through character interaction. Plus, you've probably all done the Dawnguard DLC yourselves a dozen times over, so the transitions between scenes and much of the combat isn't anything new. Hopefully you all won't mind combat and environment description taking more of a back seat.**

 **I should mention, I've tried to pinpoint Serana's age a little here, but there's an awful lot of contradiction and conjecture when it comes to her age, and when she got locked away. I've tried to base it off the body of the evidence, but yeah… I might be wrong.**

 **Also, Happy Christmas! If you don't celebrate it, then I hope you have a pleasant 25th of December.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	41. Dawnguard: Chapter 3

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 3 – A Growing Trust

Serana nodded to Marcus as he entered the room. "I bet you weren't planning on seeing me again."

Marcus had to physically stop his mouth from dropping open like a trapdoor. He blinked hard a few times. "Wha… what in all of Nirn are **you** doing here?"

Serana said, "I'd rather not be here either, but I needed to talk to you. It's important, so please just listen before your friend here loses his patience."

She gestured to Isran, who was brimming with barely contained anger. He kept glancing at Serana and having his hands twitch as though he was about to grab a weapon and bash her over the head with it.

But Serana looked desperate, so Marcus was willing to hear her out.

He said, "How about you take a breath outside, Isran? I'll hear her out."

"You sure that's wise?" Isran muttered, looking venomously at the vampire.

"I'm sure," Marcus nodded. "You know I can handle her if she turns violent, which I'm sure won't happen."

Isran grumbled something inaudibly, but walked outside the room. Marcus pulled up a small stool and sat down, showing that he was relaxed and not threatening her in any way. The young woman looked a bit more comfortable.

Marcus said, "So, tell me what this is about."

Serana took a deep breath. "Well… it's about me, and the Elder Scroll that was buried with me."

"What about you?"

"The reason I was down there… and why I had the scroll, it all comes back to my father." Serana looked a bit uncomfortable with sharing this, but she pressed on. "I'm guessing you figured this part out already, but my father's not exactly a good person, even by vampire standards."

Marcus frowned in confusion. "Vampires have standards?"

Serana shot him a look.

"Right, sorry," he shut up.

She continued, "He wasn't always like that, though. There was a… turn of sorts. He stumbled onto this obscure prophecy and just kind of lost himself in it."

"Prophecy," Marcus muttered. "Fucking perfect..."

Serana blinked. "What?"

"Sorry, it's just… nevermind. What sort of prophecy was it?"

Serana shrugged. "Well, it's pointless and vague, like all prophecies. But the part he latched onto said that vampires would no longer need to fear the sun."

"And that's what you mean by 'lost himself'?"

"Yeah… he just became absorbed, obsessed. It was kind of sick, actually. The idea of controlling the sun, and having vampires control the world… for someone who fancied himself as vampire royalty, that's pretty seductive."

"What does that have to do with you and the scroll?"

Serana replied, "Well, my mother and I didn't feel like inviting a war with all of Tamriel, so we tried to stop him. That's why I was sealed away with the Scroll."

Marcus stroked his chin. "I take it your father probably blamed it all on your mother?"

Serana sighed sadly. "Mhmm. That's why he mentioned her in such a… vehement manner at the castle."

Marcus looked sideways at the ground, thinking hard. It added up, to an extent. After a while, he looked back up her. "You know, you took a tremendous risk by coming here."

"I did," Serana nodded, "but something about you makes me think I can trust you." She rubbed her elbow anxiously, upon seeing his frowning face. "I… hope I'm not wrong."

Marcus stood up, staring her in the eyes while frowning thoughtfully,"In most circumstances, I trust vampires about as far as I can throw them. Now, while that might be further than most people, it's still not far enough to believe everything you just said at the drop of a hat. However… I cannot think of a single reason why you would come here, to potentially the most dangerous place on Tamriel for a vampire to be, if you weren't telling the truth. So… I believe you." He stood up. "Now we just have to convince the others you're on our side."

Serana breathed out in relief, nodding. "Ok. Let's move on then. I'm nothing if not persuasive."

Marcus walked outside, Serana close behind. Isran was leaning against a wall just outside the door.

Isran straightened and approached Marcus. "All right, you've heard what it has to say. Now, is there any reason why I shouldn't kill this blood-sucking fiend right now?"

"Her father is on a mission to destroy the sun and plunge the world into eternal darkness allowing all-powerful vampires to run amok. The Scroll is a key to that."

"Do you honestly believe any of that? Has she enthralled you?"

Marcus sighed. "You know as well as I do that's impossible. Just… put aside your hatred for a moment and try to see the larger picture, Isran."

Isran snorted. "Set my hatred aside? No chance. It's what keeps me strong."

Marcus crossed his arms. "You don't trust her, fine. Trust me. I believe her."

Isran looked Marcus up and down, a dark glare in his eyes. Marcus remained still, matching Isran's gaze unwaveringly.

Isran groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'd better know what you're doing." He opened his eyes and took a step toward Marcus. "It can stay for now, but if it so much as lays a finger on anyone here, I'll hold you responsible. Got it?"

Marcus matched Isran's stride, stepping straight up to him and staring the slightly taller old man in the eyes. "Noted."

Isran turned to face Serana. "You here me? Don't feel like a guest, because you're not. You're a resource, an asset. In the meantime, don't make me regret my sudden outburst of tolerance and generosity, because if you do, your friend here is going to pay for it."

"If you're going to threaten me, Isran, you better be prepared to follow through." Marcus walked between the old man and Serana. "And we **both** know that isn't a fight you could win."

Serana raised her eyebrows at the exchange, even more so when Isran took a step back, and shifted his gaze away from Marcus. He walked to the edge of the room.

Serana cleared her throat, and began talking with Marcus again. "So… in case you didn't notice the giant thing on my back, I have the Elder Scroll with me."

Marcus said, "I'm sure your father was pretty upset to see it go."

Serana smiled. "Well, I'd imagine so. I didn't stick around to document his reaction. Whatever this thing says, it will have something that can help us stop my him. But of course, neither of us can read it."

"You sure?" Marcus asked. "Because… no… that was probably different, to be honest."

"What are you on about?" Serana frowned.

"Nothing, nothing," Marcus waved a hand dismissively. "Do you know of any who can?"

Serana shrugged. "Well, the Moth Priests are the only ones I've heard of who can do it. They spend years preparing before they start reading, though. Not that it helps us anyway, cause they're all half a continent away in Cyrodiil."

Isran chimed in. "Some Imperial scholar arrived in Skyrim a few days ago. I was staking out the road when I saw him pass by, so maybe that's your Moth Priest."

Serana asked, "Do you know where he's staying now?"

"No, and I'm not going to waste men looking. we're fighting a war against your kind, and I intend to win it. You want to find him, try talking to anyone who'd meet a traveler. Innkeepers and carriage drivers, maybe. But you're on your own." The gruff man walked out of the room, and headed away into the fort.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Typical..." he sighed.

"Any idea where you'll find a Moth Priest?" Serana rubbed her cheek. "Skyrim's a pretty big place."

"Not sure." Marcus admitted. "Any ideas?"

"Well, back before I… you know. The college of Winterhold was the first place I'd think to go for any kind of magic or historical thing. The wizards know about all kinds of things that people shouldn't know about."

Marcus gave a knowing smile. "Yeah… you're not exactly wrong..." He straightened up and began to walk away. "Well, that's good enough for a start. I'll be heading off, I guess."

"Actually..." Serana reached out and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. "Now that I think of it… I'm going to come along with you. I've been really wanting to get out and explore a bit."

Marcus turned with a frown on his face.  
"I hope that's not a problem for you." Serana added quickly.

"Hmm. While you're not exactly my usual type of traveling companion, it's just..." he looked uncomfortable. "I haven't traveled with anyone properly since… Nevermind. We should probably get going, in that case."

Serana looked a little apprehensive, and curious as to why Marcus kept hesitating mid-sentence, but she wouldn't complain just now. "Right behind you."

 _Gods…_ Marcus thought to himself as he began walking. _How long since I heard that?_

* * *

They walked out of the valley, into the Rift. It was just past midday, so the sky was bright and lit up the colourful trees splendidly. Marcus explained that they would use a carriage outside Riften to speed up their journey to Winterhold.

"We might have trouble getting into the College." Serana said as they walked through the open orange forestry. "I'm not sure how things have changed, but they generally weren't keen on outsiders strolling about the place in my time."

Marcus said, "Don't worry, I'm… a 'distinguished' member of the College."

"Oh? Well, I guess that sorts out that problem, and explains why you have a good grasp on magic."

Marcus nodded. "Yep."

"Does the College itself know anything about the scrolls?" Serana asked curiously.

"No," Marcus shook his head. "I mean, there's a couple books, but I found out a while ago it's all pretty vague. Mostly just conjecture, to be honest. Not really any usable info."

"Ok." Serana nodded.

They continued to walk in silence for the most part, each minding their own thoughts. They made it to Riften, and Marcus went straight for the carriage. Serana would've liked a moment to look in the city, but figured there'd be time enough for that at a later date.

The carriage ride itself was dull for Marcus, with most threats keeping a distance from the road these days and himself knowing the scenery like the back of his hand. Serana was a different story, constantly keeping her head on a swivel. There may not have even been a volcanic tundra when she'd been sealed away, given how long ago it was.

After a while, she settled back into her seat, and instead studied Marcus. "You seem pretty experienced, you know."

Marcus shrugged. "Well… I've been around."

"A vampire hunter, skilled in various forms of magic, and a well-regarded member of the College. Just how many tricks and titles do you have up your sleeve?"

Marcus cast his gaze to the wooden floor, trying not to grin. "Um… not too many more."

"Huh..." Serana raised an eyebrow at him. He wasn't telling her the whole story, that much she knew. She was curious, but not curious enough to devote any extra thought into prying just now.

* * *

Marcus dozed for the rest of the trip to Winterhold, having not gotten any sleep for the last two days after hunting down Sorine and Gunmar. Serana stayed awake, and in between her scenery-absorbing, watched him intently while he rested.

He looked average enough, at a glance. Average height, brown hair cut haphazardly at a finger's length, a face that possessed the same half-handsome look a lot of nords had, and a toned build.

But Serana had lived long enough to know that the interesting parts about someone required further analysis than a simple glance. If she hardened her gaze, she could notice the various faint scars on his face. Mostly faded, but still there, hinting at many vicious by-gone battles. His body wasn't overly muscled, but rather… refined. There was no wasted space, his muscles a lethal mix of strong and lean, allowing strength and agility in equal measures.

His weapons and gear were… unique. He carried a sword and dagger made of bone, and his armour looked more like something a huntsman would wear to a fancy dinner party, with interlocking plates of some strange material, and lots of leather held together by metal straps. It didn't look too protective in all honesty, particularly around the chest area. Still, Serana wasn't one to talk.

But it was his eyes that stood out most of all. She couldn't see them now, of course, but Serana had noted when he'd stood up to Isran just how brightly they shone. Almost as bright as her own eyes, like two twin bonfires contained in a glass sphere. They spoke of a boundary-less heat, and a volume of experience to fill a hundred books.

Marcus intrigued her, no two ways about it. He raised a lot of questions, with his shouts, his attitude, and the way he refused to bow or defer to anyone. His stubborn attitude when it came to answering her questions only added more curiosity. His abilities were one thing, but to hide why he had them? One would need an important reason to do that.

He was like one of the books about mystery that she'd been so fond of reading in her youth; an intricate puzzle that she was almost embarrassingly eager to solve.

* * *

Marcus awoke to Serana shaking him awake. The cold air was the first thing he noticed, so he knew they'd arrived in Winterhold. He jumped off the carriage, nodded in thanks to the driver, and began walking into town, Serana close behind.

"This is Winterhold?" Serana muttered, glancing around. "I remember it being… bigger."

Marcus explained, "A long time ago, though not as long as you'd been buried, there was a gigantic storm. Washed half the city into the ocean. The College was unscathed however, almost ridiculously so."

"What do you mean 'ridiculously unscathed'?"

Marcus nodded up ahead, to the bridge. "You'll see."

As they began to cross the bridge, Serana gasped at the sight in front of her. Almost every piece of land in front had fallen into the sea, with only a few thing towers of land holding up the College, like a stone balanced on a stick.

"Is that safe?" Serana asked. "The College's foundation being so small, I mean."

"Probably not," Marcus shrugged. "But it's stayed that way for almost 100 years, and the stuff underneath the College is pretty supernatural, so I doubt anything will change."

They made their way through the final gate, into the College proper. Marcus went straight for the hall of the elements. Serana looked around, interestedly, she could hardly remember the last time she'd been at the College. Much had changed.

Marcus turned, seeing the inquisitive look on her face as she took in her surroundings. He couldn't help but give a small smile.

"Go ahead and run around, if you want," he said, "I'll be in the Arcaneum. It's our 'library' of sorts. It's in the second floor of the big building. Try not to disturb too many people, and do keep your..." Marcus lowered his voice. "Vampirism... to yourself. I doubt it'd lead to a fight, but it'd cause problems."

Serana nodded, and walked off while Marcus went up the stairs to the library. She strolled into the hall of the elements, noticing all the markings of practiced spells on the walls and floor. She was looking at a particularly large scorch mark on a pillar that seemed to have dislodged part of the brickwork when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Marcus did that one. His bloody favourite 'impact' lightning spell."

Serana turned to see a dark elf woman standing there, a polite smile on her face. She was very pretty, in a pointy, intelligent sort of way.

"Are you new here?" she asked Serana. "I'm Brelyna. I wasn't informed we had a new student in today."

"Oh no," Serana shook her head. "I'm not a new student, I'm with Marcus, he's investigating something in the Arcaneum."

Brelyna looked surprised, but then a pleased smile broke out on her face. "The Arch-mage is here? How long ago did he arrive?"

"Wait… Marcus is the Arch-mage?"

"Of course," Brelyna nodded. "Didn't he tell you? That's typical. Just dumped you to wander around while he unravelled another couple of secrets, I suppose?"

Serana shrugged. "Well, I did want to have a look around."

Brelyna tilted her head sideways a little. "So… are you traveling with him, or something?"

"We're…" Serana picked her words carefully, and was grateful her cape hid the Elder Scroll well enough. "...searching for someone important. Marcus thinks they might've come through the College."

Brelyna nodded, "Fair enough. I guess I can get the full story from the man himself. I trust Marcus not to have brought you here if you can't behave yourself, but still… try not to damage anything."

The dark elf turned around and walked out of the Hall, heading for the library. Serana watched her go, sensing a bit of history between her and Marcus. She wandered out of the hall and headed up a flight of stairs. Not wanting to bother Marcus, she continued upwards past the door marked 'Arcaneum' to an unmarked door.

Inside, was a lavish room. Circular in design, it contained a large alchemical garden, and an extraordinary amount of magical equipment and materials. Soul gems, alchemy tables, enchanting tools, enchanted robes… this room had it all. This had to be the Arch-mage's quarters. Marcus' quarters, she reminded herself.

Serana walked towards the bed, a large thing that didn't seem to be slept in that often. There was a desk beside it, with a book on top. Her curiosity piqued, Serana opened the book. It was a journal, of sorts, of Marcus'.

Eyebrows raised, Serana found she really, really wanted to give the book a read, despite the moral implications of delving through someone's things. Still, Marcus had been keeping a lot of things hidden from her, so perhaps this would even the field. Serana glanced around quickly, then opened it up.

She flipped to one of the later dates, seeing a large number of lists and notes about locations, people, and tasks. There also seemed to be reflections mixed throughout. There was one entry, very close to the end of the book that caught her eye, as the page contained far more writing than most of the other pages.

The date was recent, save a few months.

 _Morndas, 10th of Morning Star._

 _I dealt with the troubling reports outside Morthal yesterday. Turns out a group of bandits had delved into an ancient crypt and taken a sword from the depths, which happened to awake some strange version of a wisp mother. It was a relatively tough fight. The thing was launching ice spears like it was going out of style. I've now got a scar on my right arm that looks like a half moon. It'll go nicely with the star-shaped scar on my left collarbone. I'm starting to look like a tapestry._

 _Made a short stop at Morthal for the night. I tried to avoid Idgrod, but word travels fast in that town. She cornered me in the inn just after nightfall and asked why I'd been avoiding her on previous trips through the town. I tried to find the words to say that wouldn't make her upset. It didn't make a difference._

 _She started crying, and asked if I'd ever meant anything to her. I tried to explain, trying to find the words I wished I didn't have to say, that it just could not work, with what I am. There were too many contradictions and barriers between what I can do, and what she wanted. I could never give her the life with me she wished for. That I just don't know how to make any of it work. My fumbling words fell on deaf ears. It was hard to get a word in between the sobs anyway. In the end, I gave her a hug, and quickly kissed her tear-stained cheek before moving outside and leaving the town, walking through the night._

 _I'll have to make sure I travel through that town less. Me feeling crap about the situation, and having her feel even worse, isn't going to change it._

 _It seems I have to cross more and more towns off the list of places to stay at. First Rorikstead, and now Morthal. I'll still go there if I need to solve any problems, or kill anything that needs to be killed, but at this point I'd rather just sleep under the stars. I wish there was another way for this to turn out. I didn't want it to end with her the way it had with so many others, but I have little choice. I guess in a way, it's literally written in stone._

 _The archmage's quarters are comfortable, yet, this morning when I woke up, I still felt beaten down. It was an effort to crawl out of the bed, yet physically I'm fine. I've begun to feel tired, no matter how much sleep I get. I keep up a jovial, happy attitude around my housecarls and other friends though, as always. They should not have to shoulder my problems, especially when I'm not entirely sure what the problem is, myself. I'm wondering why the God's even keep me around, at this point._

 _Haven't I completed the task I was set? I've done it all._

 _What else am I supposed to do?_

Serana noted that beside the last question mark, was a small circle of darkened paper. About the size of a fingernail. As if a single drop of water had landed on the page.

The sounds of feet against the stone steps dragged her away from the pages. Quickly, Serana dropped the book, and walked away towards the noise. Marcus came up from the stairs, and sighed when he saw her.

"You know, it's generally courteous not to wander through people's bedrooms while they're busy."

Serana replied evenly. "It's also courteous to tell someone when they're the leader of an institution like the College."

Marcus folded his arms across his chest. "I'm the Arch-mage in nothing but name. The more experienced wizards take care of everything in the day-to-day. It isn't a title I'd want to flaunt. Why'd you decide to come up here anyway?"

"Sorry," Serana said, "I just… I was just looking around."

"It's fine, I guess" Marcus shrugged. "It's just there's a few things in this room I still don't know how to handle. They could just as easily turn you into a cow as blow up the College. You didn't touch anything, did you?"

"No," Serana shook her head quickly.

"Ok. I find out where our moth priest went. He stopped by to do some research, and headed for Dragon Bridge, a town near Solitude."

"Right, let's get going then."

Marcus nodded. "Oh, and by the way, these are yours." He handed her a couple of books. One about the empire, one about the great war, and one about the Oblivion crisis.

He said, "They'll fill you in on recent history better than I could. As for the earlier history… it's not really relevant. Just extrapolate the past 200 years for the last 2000, and you'll be close enough. Nothing ever really changes."

"Ok…" Serana scratched her head, but took the books. They'd probably inform her better than Marcus could, in any event.

"Are you good to go?" Marcus asked her, "Or do you want to poke around my room a little more?"

Serana shot him a look, then answered by walking down the stairs to the outside.

They walked out into the snowy air. Serana was still reeling from the journal. She felt bad for having intruded into something clearly personal, and it hadn't even answered any of her questions about him, only created a hell of a lot more.

* * *

Marcus and Serana were walking down one of the cobbled roads leading to Dawnstar, where he said they'd pass through on their way to a reliable animal-trail that'd take them through the Morthal marshland relatively quickly.

Up ahead, Serana spied a figure in blue walking towards them. She glanced sideways at Marcus, who simply gave a small nod to indicate he'd seen it too.

As the figure approached, it became clear they weren't a threat. It was a regular-looking man with blond hair, and a flute sticking out of one of his shirt pockets.

He smiled at them as he got close. "Greetings, fellow travelers! I am Talsgar the Wanderer, a simple bard traveling the province in these exciting times."

"Nice to meet you," Serana said. Marcus just simply nodded.

"I'm on my way to Winterhold," Talsgar said. "I'm going to see if the mages will record my new ballad about the mighty Dragonborn in their archives, to ensure it withstands the test of time."

Talsgar was about to walk past them, when Serana stopped him.

"Hold on," she said, "What's this… 'Dragonborn'?"

Talsgar blinked. "What do you mean? Have you been living under a rock?"

Marcus stifled a laugh.

Talsgar continued. "Who hasn't heard of the legendary Dragonborn? The Demigod of Akatosh? The mortal with the unstoppable soul of a Dragon? The man who did battle with Alduin in Sovngarde not one year ago, and saved the entire world from the Wyrm's ensuing domination?"

Serana blinked, then stared accusingly at Marcus. "Why in Oblivion haven't you told me about this particular bit of recent history? Surely that's more important than the intricacies of a Civil War?"

Marcus shrugged, keeping quiet.

Talsgar drew himself up, and addressed Serana with a proud expression. "I actually met him, you know. I saw him moving down the road near Whiterun one misty morning. He stood as tall as two men, clad in Dragonbone."

Talsgar raised his hands in a flamboyant gesture, showcasing his skill as a bard as Serana became very interested. "As he passed by, he spoke in a clear, firm voice, and informed me of his latest exploits against a foul Dragon on a nearby mountain. I went there, and saw his quarry myself, drained of its soul and with a huge crack in its skull. It's what inspired my song, you know."

Serana looked very curious, borderline excited. The title 'Dragonborn' rung a bell, somewhere in her memories where she'd have read it in a book or head it mentioned, but she knew nothing about it.

She said, "Is he still around? What does he do these days?"

"I wish I knew, I'd ask him for more song material!" The man laughed. "Anyway, I'd love to tell you more, my dear, but I've a ballad that needs immortalizing, so I'd better be off. Just speak to any innkeeper or traveler, they'll tell you as much as I can."

Then Talsgar wandered off, clearly out of Dragonborn-related boasts. Marcus raised his eyebrow as he left, and when he was certain the wandering bard was out of earshot, he finally spoke again.

"Come on, let's keep moving."

Serana turned to him. "Why didn't you tell me that a literal messiah was walking through Skyrim? I feel like that's pretty important information."

"Why?" Marcus gestured open-palmed. "In what scenario would it have been relevant to mention? The guy gets enough attention as is, I'm sure."

Serana frowned at him, but kept quiet. They continued traveling. As they past through Dawnstar, the sun fell below the horizon, and night fell. Marcus didn't feel tired enough to warrant stopping to make camp just yet though, so they kept walking. Serana didn't mind, she much preferred traveling through the night anyway.

After a while, Serana turned to him. "Hey, do you think there's a chance we'll meet the Dragonborn? Wandering out on the roads as we are?"

Marcus looked at her warily, "Uhh… Why would you want to meet him?"

Serana shrugs, "He's a hero that saved the world, why wouldn't you want to meet him?"

Marcus looked at his feet, as he walked "Well… don't get your hopes up. He's not that impressive in person. You'd probably not recognize him if you saw him."

"You've seen him?"

"Hmmm… once. At a distance."

"What did he look like?"

Marcus went to answer, but stopped himself, then shrugged. "I don't know. He wore a pretty chunky set of armor, including a full-face helmet."

"Did you talk to him?"

"I… No. He seemed to be in a hurry. Speaking of which, we should pick up the pace."

"What's the rush?"

"I want to reach a place along the coast. It's a place I've had under construction, just a little estate. It'll be safer to rest there than in the marsh."

Serana blinked. "You own an estate?"

Marcus made a teetering gesture with his hand. "It's under construction, so not technically, yet. It isn't my first property, but I wanted something that suits all of my needs, so I decided to design a place and have it built."

"You must be pretty well-off."

"Meh. You can make a surprising amount of money from adventuring in Skyrim. It's not too hard to get enough to afford a house, or several for that matter."

Marcus walked a little faster, and Serana raised an eyebrow. She didn't ask anymore questions though, until they'd made their way through the marshes and came to a structure on the coast. It looked to be a large house under construction, surrounded by tents. Most of the tents were occupied with what looked to be workers.

"Oh," Marcus said in mild surprise. "They've done more than I anticipated. That's good."

"Are you planning on sleeping in one of the tents?" Serana asked.

Marcus shook his head. "I don't think there's a spare one. I'll just sleep on a bedroll or something."

"What about me?"

Marcus shrugged, "I dunno. I could ask them to make you a coffin with any spare wood, but I'd rather not deal with the questions it'd raise. Sort yourself out."

Serana frowned at him, as he walked over and laid out on the grass. She opted to sit somewhere else, against a tree stump. She stared out over the water, seeing it sparkle in the moonlight, with the large silhouette of Solitude in the background.

* * *

Marcus awoke to the sound of boots walking across the ground. It was instant, like a lever being flicked. Unconscious, to full alert in a second. Another by-product of his life. He stayed still though, knowing after another second that the source of the noise wasn't hostile.

The steps were evenly spaced, and no effort was made to conceal noise. A friend, in that case, approaching him. Marcus decided to keep up the illusion of sleep for a moment. He'd have to get up anyway. He could feel sunlight on his face.

A boot nudged his shoulder. He opened one eye. A goddess, illuminated by golden light, stared down at him. Marcus closed his eye for a moment, then opened both. Jordis stared down at him, with the sun behind her. She looked happy, in a subtle sort of way.

"There really isn't any predicting your movements, is there? You just show up wherever, whenever." She said, in a mock frustrated tone.

"That I do. Why are you here?" Marcus asked.

"Inspecting the construction, making sure the workers aren't being lazy. I do this once a week."

"Fair enough." Marcus sat up, and stretched his back to work out some of the little twinges and pains.

"You know, you could've slept in a tent, if you wanted."

"Didn't feel like waking anyone up."

Jordis rolled her eyes. Marcus stood up, and checked the sky. Early morning.

His housecarl gestured to Serana, who was sitting on a log admiring the view of Solitude from below across the bay. "Who's that? Another random stray that's decided to tag along with you for a while?"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Stray? Someone sounds jealous."

Jordis pouted. "I'm not jealous, I'm just… concerned. Who is she?"

"She's an..." Marcus struggled to find the words. He couldn't tell the truth, or shouldn't, rather. "Associate. A work associate, in lay terms. Her name is Serana, and she's part of a group of vampire hunters, and she's helping me track down someone of import."

"Hmmm..." From Marcus' tone, Jordis figured that was all she was getting out of him. His opinion on what he did and didn't want to tell his housecarls wasn't so easily swayed as it used to be. A little feminine intuition and pressuring wouldn't change his mind, if he didn't think they should know.

Marcus looked over at the house. It looked about three-quarters finished, on the outside. "I'm going to go inspect the place, for a minute. Then we'll probably be going."

"I don't suppose you need me along, or want me?"

Marcus shrugged. "I don't need anyone along with me these days, and the nature of the business myself and Serana are doing, it's probably best to keep the search party small."

Jordis sighed. "Very well."

Marcus headed off toward the house. The workers were gathering themselves and waking up. He began walking around, inspecting it closely, just for the sake of it. The design he'd outlined was being followed well enough.

Jordis walked over to Serana, as she sat on the log. The young girl looked up as the housecarl approached.

"I'm Marcus' housecarl." Jordis said.

Serana frowned, as if not entirely understanding.

"A foreigner?" Jordis asked.

Serana shrugged. "Sort of. I'm not really up to date on the local terms, in any case."

"It means a servant, though in Marcus' case that's in name only. He takes well enough care of me. He said you were looking for someone."

Serana nodded. "Yeah. A priest, of sorts, near Dragon-bridge."

"Ok."

They fell into an awkward silence. Neither knew what to say.

"I appreciate this, you know." Jordis said suddenly.

"What?" Serana frowned.

"What you're doing with Marcus, I mean," Jordis explained. "He's been off-sorts for a while. I think going on a trip with someone is good for him. As much as I'd like it to be me..."

Serana tilted her head sideways. "What do you mean?"

Jordis chewed her lip, not knowing the full extent of Serana's relationship with Marcus, and how much she ought to say. "He's an… introspective soul. Spends a lot of time walking down memory lane, especially these days, and especially when he's alone. Ever since what happened to Erik, that hasn't been a healthy thing. I think the chance to go on a mission with someone will do him well."

Serana nodded slowly, only half-understanding. "Who was Erik?"

Jordis held her hands up. "I've probably said too much, I'm sorry. I think it's up to Marcus if he tells you or not. It's a sensitive subject." The blonde girl walked away, chastising herself for being so open to a stranger. She'd naturally assumed Serana was like every other follower Marcus had, and knew more than she had.

Serana frowned deeply as Jordis walked away from her. Then she turned her gaze to Marcus, who was walking around the house with a semi-interested look. The more she learned about him, the more questions she got.

* * *

By midday, Marcus and Serana had been on the road for a while. They'd taken a small boat across the bay, and were heading south along one of the many roads around Solitude. Serana was a foot behind him, and kept glancing at him. Marcus was pretending not to notice. He'd seen Jordis talking to her that morning. He hoped his housecarl had been selective in her words.

Suddenly Serana said, "What happened to Erik?"

Marcus closed his eyes and cursed his luck. Clearly, Jordis hadn't been.

Marcus looked at her quickly, then faced forward again. "That's not a subject open to conversation."

"Why not?"

"It's a subject I'd avoid with my closest friends. Nothing personal."

"Oh… ok. I'm sorry."

They lapsed into silence. The sun was bright, and Serana began to feel a little irritated. And bothered. And frustrated. Traveling with a mortal left much to be desired, since they only moved during the daylight. She worried about her father, and how he was dealing with her departure. Probably sending out search parties, or hit squads. Maybe both.

Marcus looked across at her. "Hey, do you know anything special about the Elder Scrolls?"

"I mean..." she shrugged. "As much as anyone, so not a lot. You'd figure a couple years locked away with one would have given me some insights, but no."

"Shame."

"Yep. Turns out you don't learn much from just sleeping with something."

Marcus turned as he walked, raising an eyebrow at her choice of words. "Well… I guess that makes sense."

Dragon Bridge came into view before long. They walked into the inn, to hopefully gather a little more information. There weren't any other people inside, which made sense seeing how inns were mostly populated in the evening. Marcus went up to the counter, and the innkeeper walked up to greet him.

"What'll it be?"

"Just need to get some information. I heard a moth priest came through not too long ago."

"Oh, so that was a moth priest?" The innkeeper mused. "He came through, but didn't stop. Just headed down across the bridge about 2 hours ago. A decent-sized group too, with a carriage and all. One of the guards spoke to one of our guardsmen, and apparently they're looking for some relic. Must be an Elder Scroll."

"Ok, thanks." Marcus nodded. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"No, not really. Like I said, he didn't stop. If he had, I would've told him to just go look for the Dragonborn. He apparently has loads of Elder Scrolls."

Serana blinked. "The Dragonborn has Elder Scrolls too?"

The Innkeep nodded. "So I've heard. I witnessed his power firsthand once, so the idea of him drawing strength from such weird artifacts wouldn't surprise me."

"You saw the Dragonborn fight?" Serana looked intrigued. "What happened?"

The inkeeper rubbed his hands together. The subject was clearly a favorite of his, and probably most travelers passing through. Marcus sighed, and leaned against the counter. He was almost certain he hadn't been 'witnessed' by this man, so he was interested to see what story the guy came up with.

"The Dragonborn is a giant of a man," the innkeeper began, "He stands 7 feet tall, with a chest almost as wide with muscle, and duel wields two flaming great-swords in each hand. He stands clad entirely in a set of armour crafted from the bones of dead Dragons. His greatswords are made from Dragon bones as well."

Serana frowned a little, "That sounds… unrealistic."

Marcus arched one of his eyebrows as high as he possibly could.

The man laughed, "Oh, the Dragonborn is anything but fixed to reality, miss. He's like Akatosh himself, come to save us. It may sound difficult to believe, but it's true. I saw it with my own two eyes. I watched him slay a Dragon not too far from this very town. He severed the Dragon's wings from its body with a swipe from each sword, and then cut off its head."

Serana looked disbelieving. Marcus turned away to hide his growing smile.

Serana said, "I find it hard to believe one man can kill a Dragon 'that' easily."

The guy shook his head, "The Dragonborn is outside of mortal definition. He can't be defined by comparison with our petty understandings. He slays unspeakable monsters by day, and lays countless women each night."

Marcus took out his waterskin and took a deep drink to stop himself from laughing.

"You know," the man leaned closer to Serana and whispered in a low, excited voice to her, "I've heard that there's a certain 'guild' in Skyrim, dedicated to women from all over the province to serve in a 'harem' of sorts for the Dragonborn."

Marcus burst out laughing, spraying his side of the counter with water. The innkeeper and Serana both looked at him in confusion. Marcus subsided his laughter enough to get a few gasps of air in.

"Excuse me, I… I think I need a breath of fresh air..." He turned to Serana. "I'll be outside."

Serana watched Marcus go, then she looks back at the man. "Are you 100% sure about that?"

"Aye, miss. The Dragonborn is the only thing worth praising in a temple, if you ask me. He's the first sign that the Gods ever gave a damn about us."

Serana frowned at the floor. "Well… thanks for the information, I guess." Then she turned and walked out.

Marcus was leaning against the door frame, looking at her with a humored look. "Had your fill of local folklore?"

"How much of it do you think was exaggeration?"

"Somewhere between 98 and 99 percent, I'd imagine. These people lead very boring lives, Serana. They can go years without anything interesting happening, so they often fill in the gaps with whatever mish-mash of rumor and general bull-shitting they can come up with."

Serana folded her arms. "That's rather cynical of you."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Go to any bloody inn or village around the province, and you'll get a similar story. It's a funny enough thing to hear, I guess, if not particularly accurate."

"What, and you're some kind of expert on the subject?"

Marcus gave her a subtle knowing smile. "Well… More than they are. Come on, time's wasting."

The pair walked down the road, across the bridge. They continued for another 20 minutes, until they came to a bend in the road with an upturned carriage just beside it. Even from a distance, Marcus could see the lumps laid across the ground that he knew with a plummeting feeling were corpses. The two adults glanced at each other, then broke into a run for the site.

There was a lot of blood on the ground, and evidence of a vicious fight. The four guardsmen had put up a decent fight, and there were the bodies of two other figures nearby. Marcus knelt down to inspect them, and his suspicions were confirmed. Vampires.

"Your father's subordinates?" Marcus asked.

Serana nodded solemnly. "Yes."

Marcus looked around. He stood up, and lifted the carriage off its side onto its wheels, clearly looking for something. Serana blinked in confusion as she saw him do it. The carriage wasn't large, but it was sizable. She could've lifted it, but she was a supremely powerful vampire.

"I don't see the body of a priest," Marcus said. "Do you?"

Serana looked around. "No… They must have taken him somewhere."

Marcus picked up the body of a vampire and rifled through its pockets, before pulling out a note. He gave it a quick read then passed it to Serana.

"They have a rendezvous in a cave north of here." he said. "If they took the priest, that's where he'll be."

As they began walking away, and the investigative part of Marcus' mind settled down, the guilt began to trickle in. He'd rested that night. He could've kept going. He wasn't too tired, and Serana probably wouldn't have minded. These people might have survived, had he just pushed himself a little harder.

Marcus hung his head as he walked, and almost closed his eyes at his multi-layered frustration at himself. Guilt for not being able to save them. Annoyance for worrying about things he could no longer change. Despair upon realizing how often this situation repeated itself.

"You ok?" Serana asked him. Her voice dragged him out of his thoughts, and he blinked.

"Yeah, sorry, I just… got lost in thought."

Marcus and Serana walked to the cave the letter had outlined. There were bloodstains on the rocks outside. Welcoming, like most Skyrim caves.

They crept inside, not talking as to ensure they didn't spoil the element of surprise. They saw a large cavern, with a sprawling stone structure set just past a small stream. Marcus could see multiple figures walking around, but Serana could make out the details on them better.

"They're vampires," she said. "All of the ones I can see, anyway."

Marcus nodded, and breathed in and out slowly, readying himself. "Do you have any qualms about fighting them?"

"Do you have any qualms about fighting other humans?"

"Well… no, but it's not exactly the same thing..."

"Why not? You're the same race."

Marcus made a face. "Hmm… nevermind. Let's move in and rescue that priest."

They crept forward until they reached a bridge over the short stream. A death hound slowly walked towards them, as of yet oblivious to their presence. There were a lot of vampires around. Plus, Marcus knew he couldn't use his Storm Call shout to thin them out.

"Do we have a plan of attack?" Serana asked him.

"Uhh..." Marcus thought for a minute. "Not really. Keep me covered with your spells, I guess. I'll try not to decapitate a few so you've got something to reanimate."

"How considerate," Serana said sarcastically.

Then Marcus stood up, and sprinted at the death house, severing its head with a swing from his sword as he ran past, not even slowing. Serana stood up and followed, firing an ice spike that impaled one of the closer vampires patrolling the stone structure.

They cut through the exterior personnel before most even knew what was wrong. As far as stealth went, ice magic wasn't particularly bad, and Marcus made next to zero sound as he performed his eloquent dance of death through the ranks of thralls and lesser vampires.

Marcus got to the upper area of the stone compound before Serana did, and was locked in a duel with the leading vampire by the time she got there.

The vampire was an orc, a big guy, though probably average by orcish standards, wearing a modified version of the regular vampire armor with extra steel plates. He wielded an enchanted orcish sword the sparked with blue electricity whenever Marcus parried the blade away. Behind the two battling foes, was a blue sphere within which a man in robes was imprisoned.

Serana recognized the orc from the brief time she'd spent in her home before she left after Marcus.

"Malkus!" She shouted, readying an ice spear in her hand.

Both opponents were distracted, Malkus confused at hearing the voice of his Lord's daughter, while Marcus thought Serana had called out his own name. They both looked at her, but Malkus was the first to recover. He looked back at Marcus and kicked him in the chest, knocking the man backwards a few metres with a rough kick.

"Serana?" Malkus said, tilting his head sideways. "You… you're with this mortal, aren't you?"

Serana didn't respond, she just launched her ice spear at the orc, who dodged to the right.

Malkus sneered at her after recovering, and strode towards he quickly. "How callously you've chosen to throw away everything your father has offered. You've become so similar to Valeri-"

 **Thunk**

Malkus stumbled forward a pace, looked a little stunned. He turned around to see Marcus back on his feet, arm outstretched as if he'd just throw something. Serana, now that Malkus had his back to her, could see the broad-bladed dagger lodged between his shoulder blades.

Marcus expected the orc to sink to his knees, but instead, his armor began to leak an inky darkness. It swarmed around him, and then sunk into the area where Marcus' dagger was impaled. It pushed the blade out, then filled the wound and healed it.

Marcus blinked upon seeing this. _The fuck? That's new…_

Malkus shuddered and reared to his full height. He glanced at the two and grinned savagely. "A gift, from Harkon… just another thing you've decided to squander, Serana."

She gritted her teeth, and ran at him, dagger in one hand and her other firing a drain life spell. Marcus charged from the other side, using telekinesis to bring his dagger back into his left hand.

The three people met in centre of the upper platform, Marcus and Serana slashing Malkus across the arms, chest, and legs with their weapons. Every time they scored an injury, the same inky darkness would spew from Malkus' armour and heal every wound. The vampire seemed to be having fun, alternating between facing one or the other, and dueling them for a few seconds.

After a minute, the vampire decided to finish things up. He parried away an attack from Serana with one hand and punched her in the mouth with the other, knocking her to the ground, before darting forward and kicking her across the face. Malkus then spun around and blocked an overhead swing from Marcus, then fired a lightning bolt into his stomach with the other hand.

Marcus staggered backwards, arms reeling as he felt the intense heat scorch his lower torso. Malkus, eyes blazing, capitalized on the initiative and thrusted for Marcus' chest with his sword. The blade crashed into his chest hard, winding Marcus, but didn't penetrate further than the outer layer of cloth. Malkus frowned in confusion, wondering why his weapon hadn't sunk into the flesh of the mortal in front of him, and instead had seemed to hit something metal. Marcus darted out with his dagger, and sliced off several of the exposed fingers holding the orcish sword.

Malkus dropped the blade and staggered back, groaning in pain, his hand no longer able to hold his weapon. The inky black shadows from his armour were already setting to work regenerating said appendages, however. Marcus stepped forward, and with a little spin to gain momentum, he severed the stunned vampire's head from his shoulders. Then, to ensure no more regeneration occurred, he dropped his dagger, caught the head before it hit the ground, and flung it as far away as he could.

The shadows melted out of the armour and sank into the ground, along with the blood from Malkus' headless neck. Then everything was still.

Marcus sheathed his weapons, and walked over to Serana. Her lip was all bloody, from Malkus' kick. She looked a little dazed, but nothing too bad. He reached down and held out his hand. After her eyes had focused, she looked up at him and took his hand, smiling.

"Thanks."

Marcus just nodded. He took a few steps backward and channeled a blast of restoration magic through his chest, sealing the cracked ribs and burnt skin he'd received. He glanced over at Serana, as she wiped the blood off her face. He knew standard healing spells wouldn't work on her, as a vampire, so there wasn't anything he could do.

After a bit of investigating, they managed to release the magical dome around the Moth Priest. If fizzled and dissipated, and the old man inside promptly charged at Marcus with fury-filled eyes. Thankfully, he was indeed just an old man, and thus the clear enthrallment was able to be broken fairly easily.

He explained himself, stating his name was Dexion Evicus, and had been captured and subsequently enthralled by the vampires. The vampires claimed that had some purpose in store for him, but wouldn't say what.

Marcus said, "I know why they needed you, because we need you for the same purpose."

Dexion blinked. "You… you do? What is it?"

"We need you to read an Elder Scroll, at Fort Dawnguard, near Stendarr's Beacon."

Dexion's eyes lit up like a smal child. "You have an Elder Scroll? Remarkable! If my knowledge of history serves me, I recall the Dawnguard were vampires hunters, so I'll be more than happy to assist you. I'll just hurry on my way there before more vampires show up, if you don't mind."

Marcus frowned. 'Are you sure you'll be able to make it there safely?"

"Yes," Dexion nodded quickly. "Don't worry about me, just make sure you bring that scroll!"

The old man hurried off, picking his way past the various corpses laid around the place.

Serana watched him go, then looked back at Marcus. "How come Malkus' sword didn't impale you?"

Marcus smiled, and parted his shirt slightly to show the ebony chainmail underneath.

"Where'd you find that?"

"I didn't find it, I made it myself."

Serana frowned. Yet another skill Marcus seemed to inexplicably possess.

"Come on," Marcus gestured towards the exit. "Let's go."

Serana followed him outside, thinking hard the entire time. A warrior, mage, craftsman, with the ability to use the ancient magic of Nords, as well as multiple properties and servants. A man who could cut through a cave filled with vampires with only a few scratches to show that he'd even been there in the first place. A man who wasn't afraid to talk down to the leader of a group of skilled vampire hunters, or the Lord of Skyrim's oldest vampire sect.

They made it out into the open air, seeing the sun begin to dip below the horizon. The sky was covered in a blanket of deep orange, lighting up the faces of the two adults as they walked towards the road. Marcus stopped after a while, noticing Serana had ceased walking.

"Something wrong?" he asked, looking back at her.

Serana fixed him with a curious gaze, then she stated five words with almost casual bluntness.

"You're the Dragonborn, aren't you?"

Marcus jolted a little, eyes growing a tad wider. Then he looked down at the ground somewhat ashamedly. "I… Yeah… Figured it out, did you?"

Serana nodded, smiling with satisfaction at her deduction. "It was easy enough to piece together, now that I think of it. Why didn't you say so when we first met?"

Marcus shrugged. "When we first met I wasn't sure if you'd try to stab me when I turned my back. I was just keeping my cards close to my chest."

"Then why didn't you say so later?"

"I… I don't really know. I suppose for the same reason you didn't tell me you lived in a gigantic castle. People assume too many things about me if they know who I am, especially when every man and his dog has a larger-than-life account of the mighty 'Dragonborn'. I… I think I'd rather be judged by how I act in person, than the exaggerations of a random bard or commoner."

"Hmm…" Serana looked at him up and down. The revelation was… surprising, but didn't really change the light in which she saw him. "I guess that makes sense. You don't really resemble much of what's been said about you."

Marcus smiled. "Well… I'm not wearing my super 'kill everything' armour right now, so that makes sense."

He sighed, and fiddled with his hands. "I guess… I'm sorry. You've been forthcoming with your own life, I should try to do the same."

"It's fine, Marcus." Serana said. "I understand, if not exactly… approve. Let's keep moving."

"Agreed."

They continued down the road, beginning the long trip to Fort Dawnguard. After a short while, Serana turned to face him as they walked. "Hey, do you actually have a harem?"

Marcus laughed, which devolved into a nervous coughing fit. "Uh… No? Of course not, I mean… Why would I?"

He found himself quickening his pace.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Some changes in perspective here, with some stuff being seen from Serana's eyes more than other characters. Not sure if I should continue it or not. I guess I'll see if I need to further down the line. I didn't want this to just be a 'Marcus' show. I want Serana to have her own moments too, and potentially a bit of an arc for herself. Let me know your thoughts.**

 **The Malkus fight was a requested one, plus I want at least a minor challenge here and there.**

 **Thank you for reading**


	42. Dawnguard: Chapter 4

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 4 – Dragonborn are like onions

Marcus poked the campfire with a his sword, releasing a small cluster of sparks to drift upwards into the night sky. It was hard to find firewood in the Whiterun plains, but he'd managed. Serana was opposite the fire, her arms wrapped around her legs. She studied his sword as Marcus shifted some logs about, pushing them into the flames. The weapon wasn't blackening in the flame, or even showing signs of heating.

"How do you craft something like that?" Serana asked absent-mindedly. "I mean, if Dragonbone is almost heat-proof, how did you sculpt it into the shape of a sword?"

Marcus shrugged. "I had to jump through a lot of hoops. It's hard to explain. You need to learn a few tricks, backed by a hell of a lot of experience. As far as I know, nobody has created similar weapons. At least, not since the methods have been lost to time."

"How'd you know what you had in mind would work?"

"I didn't, really. My method to crafting was basically trial and error. I came up with a bunch of theoretical ideas, gave it all a go, and it worked well enough. It's hard to explain to someone inexperienced, no offense."

"Huh..." Serana looked at the weapon. "Can I have a look?"

Marcus nodded, and passed it over. She held the sword in her hands, turning it over. Despite Marcus' laid back attitude to the crafting, it was truly the work of a master. Perfectly balanced, durable, sharp, and aesthetically pleasing to boot.

"The armour was what took me most of the time," Marcus mentioned. "Mixing Dragonbone, dragonscales, and ebony into any kind of practical shape was like performing surgery with a mallet."

Serana looked up from the weapon. "Is this that other set you spoke about? How'd you manage?"

Marcus grinned. "I cheated, in a sense. I used a set of blueprints created by a dwemer smith."

"I bet he was unhappy about it."

"Well, I couldn't exactly ask him permission."

"Why not?"

Marcus blinked, then his face broke out into a smile. "Oh… that's right, you don't know what happened to the dwarves..."

Serana frowned. "What? What happened to the dwarves?"

"They vanished. There isn't a single dwemer left on Tamriel."

"Vanished? How?"

"No-one has a clue," Marcus chuckled. "As far as I know, they were there one day, then 'poof', they were gone the next. Cities were intact, automatons functional, everything. Just no dwarves."

Serana looked incredulous. "Are you pulling my leg? How does an entire race just 'disappear' overnight?"

Marcus held his hands out open-palmed. "It's probably the biggest mystery on the continent. People have dedicated their lives to discerning how, and why, but nobody knows for sure. History during that time period is sketchy at best."

Serana looked at him, detecting something in his tone of voice. "Hmmm… do you have a personal theory?"

Marcus chewed his lip. "It's more of a hunch, than anything. Just something I've noticed in my travels. It's probably nothing, to be honest."

"I'd like to hear it, nonetheless."

Marcus shrugged. "Well… I've noticed that the dwemer experimented and hoarded a lot of otherworldly artifacts and items. My first Elder Scroll was entombed in a dwemer ruin, as was a particular daedric book. Then there's all the speculation about the use of Kagrenac's tools on the Heart of Lorkhan. Then, one day, a fellow researcher at the College started messing with the same equipment, and he vanished into nothing in a similar fashion."

Serana shuffled closer, listening with a curious expression.

Marcus continued, "It seems to me the dwemer were messing with things that probably should've been left alone. When you start tugging at the fabrics of Nirn, with such powerful devices, something bad was bound to happen. I think they must've somehow teleported their entire race to some other dimension, in an attempt to gain immortality."

Serana nodded, "Well, they always were ambitious, to say the least. Pride comes before the fall."

"Quite."

* * *

A full 24 hours later, Marcus was lying back against a stone, staring up at the night sky through the leaves of one of the Rift's orange trees. The fire was a bit bigger this time, seeing as firewood was easier to come by. He had a question drifting through his mind, but didn't know if it would be appropriate to ask Serana. But still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Hey Serana," he began somewhat tentatively. "Were you always a vampire?"

She looked up from the small piece of grass she was playing with, somewhat surprised. Her expression turned reminiscent. "That's… a long story."

Marcus said, "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to hear it."

Serana chewed her lip. "I guess… we kind of have to go way back. To the very beginning. Do you know where vampirism came from?"

Marcus thought for a moment. "It came from Molag Bal, didn't it?"

"Yes. The first vampire was created by him. She… was not a willing subject, but she was still the first. Molag Bal is a powerful daedric Lord, and his will is made reality. For those willing to subjugate themselves, he will still bestow the gift, but they must be powerful in their own right before earning his trust."

Marcus frowned at her. "So… you were followers of Molag Bal? You and your family?"

"Yes…" Serana looked hesitantly at Marcus, unsure of how he'd react.

"Hmm," Marcus hummed. "While it'd be hypocritical for me to criticize someone for dealing with the daedra, I can't say I'm a big fan of Molag Bal himself."

Serana blinked. "You've dealt with a daedric lord before?"

"I've dealt with all of them before."

Serana's eyes went wide. "Wh… You… To what extent?"

Marcus shifted his legs close to him. "Well… To some I rendered my assistance, and to others, I spat in their face. Molag Bal was one of the latter. He wanted me to beat some old priest half to death, so I told him to shove it and walked away. Boethiah wanted me to sacrifice a friend, so I massacred her entire cult and shouted her statue off a mountain. Mehrunes Dagon wanted me to kill another friend, so I locked his special toothpick in a museum. Sheogorath was a funny one, he made me cure a mad emperor by jumping through nightmarish scenarios in said Emperor's mind. I could go on, really."

Serana stared at him. "Clavicus?"

"Reunited him with his dog."

"Mephala?"

"Tossed her sword into the ocean."

"Malacath?"

"Killed a bunch of giants for him, and freed a village from his curse."

"Peryite?"

"Wiped out a former cult of his, then wiped out his current one."

"Azura?"

"Cleansed her soul gem."

"Nocturnal?"

"I'm one of her nightingales."

Serana had to prop herself up on one of her arms. It was all a bit much to take in. If Marcus had met her family ages ago, he'd basically have been a celebrity to them.

Serana shook her head slowly, "You've made enemies with some of the strongest beings in existence… How on Nirn are you still alive?"

Marcus looked to the sky. "I don't really know how to answer that question anymore, to be honest. Anyway, we were talking about you. How did you actually become a vampire?"

Serana's face shifted to one of intense discomfort. Marcus knew the look too well. Unpleasant memories.

Her breath caught in her throat. "I… The ceremony had me… it was degrading. Let's not revisit that. But my family all took part in it. Not really wholesome activity, but I guess it's something you do when you give yourselves to a daedric lord."

Marcus looked at Serana, her face twisted with a haunted expression. She gave a small shudder, barely perceptible. He cast his gaze to the ground. "Do you… regret becoming a vampire?"

"I..." Serana looked confused for a moment. "Nobody has ever asked me that before. I… I don't know. I think… mostly I hate what it's done to my family."

"How was it affected your family, exactly?"

"Well, you met my father. He's not exactly the most stable, and eventually he drove my mother crazy with him. And it all ended with me being locked underground for thousands of years. It's definitely been a bad thing, on the whole."

Marcus picked at his nails a little. "Well, of course it is. You dealt with Molag Bal, an indisputable evil. Now, maybe you didn't know enough at the time, and maybe it was more your parents fault, but it still should've been clear as a bad thing. Seems to me you weren't thinking clearly."

Serana frowned at him, a token offended. She stated harshly, "I'm not sure it's your place to judge me. To judge us. My family has its problems, but they're our problems."

Marcus patted the air. "I know, I know, I'm just saying… The signs that it was a bad idea would've been clear, at the time."

Serana made a halting gesture with her hand, "Just… mind your own business, ok?" She looked a little conflicted, as if a lot of thoughts were racing past her mind.

Marcus set up his bedroll, and laid back on it, staring at the sky. He bit his lip a few times, considering what to say. "I… I didn't mean to bring up any persona-"

Serana interrupted him. "Don't… just leave me alone for a bit."

Marcus breathed out, and rolled over facing away from the fire, and went to sleep. Serana stayed awake for a while longer. Her eyes darted about the sky, indicative of a rapid string of thoughts happening behind them.

* * *

The next morning, Serana woke up to find Marcus gone. His bedroll was still there, but the man himself was missing. She sat up quickly, and did a 360 degree scan, not seeing any sign of him. The thoughts of her attitude last night came back to her, and she began to look worried.

Serana stood up, and walked a little way away from the camp site, seeing a set of tracks in the dirt leading away from Marcus' bedroll. She calmed herself. He wouldn't have left without gathering his things.

But still, she felt guilty. Marcus had been remarkably generous to her, and trusted her when no-one else had. He'd kept a few secrets from her, but understandably so, and when he offered to show a little interest in her past, she'd snapped at him.

The trees cleared after 50 metres, and Serana saw Marcus standing at the edge of a cliff, next to a colossal red Dragon. They appeared to be conversing, but while Serana was able to hear the words, she couldn't understand them.

"Kogaan, Odahviing." Marcus said in a grateful voice. "Dein zu'u fun onikaan."

The red Dragon bowed its head to Marcus. "Hi yah tahrodiis paal, zeymah."

Marcus nodded, and looked down to the side. "Fin zok tahrodiis, zu'u mindol."

"Fen hi zind?" The dragon tilted its head inquisitively.

"Vomindok..." Marcus shrugged. "Nuz zu'u los ni faas do dinok."

The Dragon bowed its head once more, and took flight. Its huge wings threw up clouds of dust, as its parting words rang out. "Hin dinok fent kos tiiraaz."

Marcus watched the Dragon go, then sighed, and said something softly to himself. Serana slinked back into the trees and went back to the campsite, and sat down on near the embers of the fire as he returned.

He looked preoccupied, his thoughts elsewhere. When he got to the camp, he looked up.

"Sorry, I was talking to a friend a little ways off. He's been keeping an eye on the west coast for me. Apparently your father has sent a lot of subordinates out."

Serana nodded. "I'm not surprised. After I stole the scroll, and Malkus never returned, he'd be in conniptions."

"Alright, let's keep moving, in that case. We want to stay ahead of him."

Serana nodded, and sorted out their small camp. Marcus sprayed a brief blast of frost at the fire to fully extinguish it, then they were good to go.

"Hey," Serana began hesitantly, grabbing Marcus' shoulder as he was about to start walking out. "I… I wanted to apologize for how I acted last night."

"It's fine Serana," Marcus affirmed. "I spoke out of turn. I ought to be the last person to chastise you for being sensitive about your past, whatever it might be."

"No, you don't..." Serana took a breath. It didn't seem easy for her to put her thoughts into words. "I'm not used to people asking me questions, really. I don't know how to react. I… I should be grateful you've so many leaps of faith so far, trusting me as you have."

Marcus smiled, and patted her on the shoulder. "You're doing fine. Let's just say we both have to work on our people skills, eh? Come on. We should reach Fort Dawnguard by midday."

* * *

Marcus sat in the entrance area of the Fort, his head resting on his hand, and his face scrunched up in deep thought. Dexion has just finished the reading of the scroll a few minutes ago, and the wisdom he'd uncovered from the artifact had given Marcus a lot to think about. He needed to find two more Elder Scrolls. One, he already knew of, it was the one he'd used to learn the Dragonrend shout. It was currently being kept safely hidden away underneath the College of Winterhold. As for the second one… Marcus didn't have a clue.

He heard the sound of footsteps on stone near him, and he looked up. Serana stood there, looking like she had something to say.

"Do you have a moment to talk?" Serana asked.

Marcus nodded. "What's on your mind?"

"That moth priest, Dexion, he said we needed two other scrolls. I think I know where to start looking."

"Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Serana rolled her eyes. "Half the people in your little crew would just as easily kill me as talk to me. That doesn't necessarily make me want to open up. I got a warmer welcome from my father, and that's saying something."

Marcus frowned. "What's actually between you two? Your father and you, I mean?"

Serana sighed, and leaned against the wall, rubbing her forehead with her hand. "I… Ever since he made that prophecy his calling, we kind of fell apart. I was hoping that when he saw me again, he might feel something, but… I guess I just don't factor in at this point. I don't think he even sees me as his daughter anymore, I'm just means to an end."

"Hmmm..." Marcus looked down. "I'm sorry. I… no-one should have to go through that."

"Not your fault."

"So, where is this scroll?"

"We need to find my mother, Valerica," Serana affirmed. "She'll definitely know where it is, and if we're lucky, she'll have it herself."

Marcus frowned. "I thought you didn't know where she went?"

Serana explained, "The last time I saw her, she said that she'd go somewhere safe, somewhere that my father would never search. Other than that, she wouldn't tell me anything. But the way she said it… 'someplace he'd never search'… it was cryptic, yet she called attention to it."

"Sounds like she was pretty cautious."

Serana shrugged. "Maybe. I can't figure out why she said it that way, though. Besides, I can't imagine a place my father would avoid looking, and he's had all this time too."

Marcus thought for a moment. "Would she have been sealed away? Kinda like you were?"

"I don't think so, she said she wanted to stay awake in case the situation was resolved."

Marcus scratched his jaw. "What about in the castle? Were there any places where she spent a lot of time?"

Serana's eyes lit up. 'Wait… that almost makes sense! There was a garden I used to help her tend, where all our potion ingredients came from. She used to say my father couldn't stand the place. Too peaceful."

"I mean," Marcus gestured open-palmed. "It's pretty risky, isn't it? Staying around the castle?"

She nodded. "Oh absolutely, by my mother's no coward. Er… that is, I don't think we'll trip over her there, but it's worth a look."

"Sounds good to me," Marcus nodded. "How do we get to this garden, though? They probably won't be very welcoming to you, and they sure won't be welcoming for me."

Serana smiled. "That's true, but I know a way we can get to the courtyard without arousing suspicion. There's an inlet on the northern side of the island used by its previous owners. An old escape tunnel from the castle exits there, it'll be our way in."

"Previous owners? Who could've owned or built that castle before your family did? Lorkhan?"

Serana shot him a look, and pouted. "We're not that old."

Marcus mumbled. "You wouldn't be far off..." He looked at the door outside, then thought for a moment. "I guess we'll meet at the boat to the island."

A hint of a frown touched her face. "Aren't we going together?"

"If I'm going back to Castle Volkihar, I want to be ready. I need to go get my proper armour. The real set, this time. It'll be a long detour, and the way I'll have to use to catch up is only viable for one person."

Serana placed her hands on her hips. "What do you mean?"

"My stuff is in my house in Solitude. I'll have to ride a Dragon to make it to the docks in a reasonable time frame, and Odahviing doesn't like carrying anyone else."

Serana blinked. "You… you can ride a dragon..."

"It's like riding a horse, really. Just with a better view." Marcus turned and began walking away. "No time to lose, I'll meet you at the rowboat."

"Ok," Serana called after him. "Don't make me wait too long."

* * *

Serana sat on one of the upright posts on the jetty, waiting intently. She didn't know how long this detour of Marcus' would be, but she hoped they could make it to the inlet before daylight. It was a little past midnight now, and she'd been waiting for almost an hour. It'd be more annoying to wait in the day.

She tapped her feet against the wood idly, listening to the soft 'pok pok pok' noise of the water lapping against the boat next to her. The sky above was speckled with small clouds, drifting lazily through the air. Serana began to feel rather bored. She should've asked Marcus for more books to read, before they parted.

She crossed her legs, and was just about to rest her head on her hand, when a tall etheral figure of armoured bone and metal crashed into the ground about 4 metres from her, throwing sand all over the place as it landed in a typical crouched pose.

Serana promptly squealed uncharacteristically in fright and fell backwards into the freezing ocean with a splash.

Her head burst up out of the water, hair plastered down over her face. She parted it to reveal the figure kneeling on the ground and shaking with uncontrolled laughter. She recognized the voice. Marcus.

Serana dragged herself to the shore and shot him a look of murderous indignation, her clothes soaked through and sticking to her skin. Marcus hardly seemed to notice, his body hunched over, currently preoccupied with ensuring he got enough air in his lungs to fuel another string of laughing.

He looked up, his eyes being the only visible part of his body, and looked at her expression. Then his laughter redoubled in intensity for a few more seconds. He managed to subside it though, after much effort, and took several deep breaths.

Serana glared at him, her voice dripping with venom. "Was that **entirely** necessary?"

Marcus smiled. "I haven't laughed that hard in at least half a year, so yes, I'd say so."

Serana wringed out her cape, and shivered. "You're mean, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I'm somewhat sorry, I guess." Marcus conjured a flame atronach to help her dry out. "I was planning on coming down and landing in a normal fashion, but I figured it was too good of an opportunity to miss."

"Where's your dragon friend? How come I didn't see him?"

"He's up above the clouds. I've had a bit of practice at free-falling, so I jumped off rather high."

Serana raised an eyebrow at him. Avoiding the danger of a fall seemed to be another one of his many abilities. She moved close to the fire creature, and had a good look at Marcus in the light it gave off. His armour was impressive, to say the least. She could see where the villagers and peasants got their exaggerations from. He looked a lot more like the storybook figure she'd originally envisioned, if only lacking in about a foot of height.

It was almost menacing, really. The horned helmet, the dark metal underneath the huge plates of bone, the lack of any skin showing except his two bright eyes. It would be a terrifying last sight, and no doubt had been for many. It seemed to Serana that not all the legends about Marcus were as false as he let on.

Marcus noticed her gaze, he held his arms out wide. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's very..." Serana thought for a moment. "Dragonborn-y."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Go figure, huh? It should help me against whatever might be lurking under that castle of yours."

"It should be mostly safe down there, I would think."

"You've got me in tow," Marcus shook his head slowly. "It's not going to be safe."

* * *

The inlet of Castle Volkihar was filled with patrolling draugr and armored skeletons. A few with bows, and a few more with two-handed weapons. Marcus crouched down in the foot-high water and examined the area.

Serana shuffled over to him. "Do we have a plan?"

Marcus smiled, eyes still fixed on the undead, then shrugged. "With this armour on, for these enemies, I don't think I really need a plan..."

He stood up, and ran at a sprint around the corner up onto the inlet's platforms. Serana tried to follow, but was far behind him before long. She could only watch as Marcus dispatched every single hostile with practiced ease and efficiency.

He charged toward a pair of armoured skeletons, while another two on the far side fired their bows. Marcus dropped to one knee and slid along the icy stone as the arrows flew overhead. He reached out with his sword and sliced off the leg of one skeleton, before raising his dagger up overhead to parry the downward battleaxe strike of the second. Pushing the heavy blade aside with his leg hand, Marcus pushed off the ground with his legs, standing up and thrusting his sword into the skull of the second skeleton, before wrenching the blade out and spinning around in one movement to sever the head of the first.

He glanced sideways at the two archers, who had only just nocked their second arrows. He casually tossed his dagger into the air, before reaching out with his now free left hand and exploding the two with an incinerate spell. Then he reached out his left hand and caught his dagger again, just in time to spin around and block a greatsword swing with his two weapons shaped in an 'X' pattern.

There were three draugr in front of him, all in a line. Marcus pushed the offending greatsword away, then kicked the draugr it belonged to in the chest. It staggered back, and Marcus breathed in.

"Krii, Lun Aus!"

The purple ring washed over all three draugr, and made them stagger back, their arms no longer being able to hold their weapons as effectively, their armour appearing to weigh more heavily on their backs.

Marcus rushed forward, spearing the first through the chest and pushing it backwards to bump into the second. He ripped his sword out and swung a horizontal blow, slicing through the draugr's left arm, and most of its chest. It dropped down dead. The second draugr, still reeling from its comrade smacking into it, was dispatched with a simple decapitation. The third had gained some distance and fired off an ice spike at Marcus' chest.

He didn't bother to dodge and the long shard of ice hit his breastplate, before the armor glowed a little and the spike shattered into icicles. Marcus took a few quick steps forward, and dodged underneath the third draugr's sword, before burying both his blades into its upper chest, then kicking it to the ground.

There were two more skeletons, one with an axe and another with a bow. Marcus sheathed his dagger and raised a ward, before sprinting at them and cutting them down in seconds with two quick thrusts into the unprotected vertebrae on the necks.

Then all was silence.

Marcus breathed out in a satisfied sigh, and waited for Serana to catch up. As she approached, she had a look of amusement on her face.

Serana raised her eyebrow at him. "98 to 99 percent exaggeration, he said."

Marcus smiled, a token embarrassed, "Yeah, well… I didn't kill Alduin with my dry humor."

They made their way inside the castle, dealing with the occassional stray death hound or other monster here and there. There was even a random feral vampire down there too. Marcus noticed as well, that a small water canal ran through the section.

"The old water cistern," Serana explained, as Marcus peered down into the murky water from a wooden bridge. "On some days, this'd smell… just be glad you weren't here then."

"Did you spend a lot of time down here?"

Serana shrugged. "I like to explore. My parents almost never let me off the island, so yeah, I poked around down here a lot. It was a little… quieter back then. I guess a little vampire girl was enough to scare off the rats."

Marcus smiled, imagining a little Serana fighting off a horde of rats. But still, if that was what Serana did for fun…

He commented, "Doesn't sound much like typical child activity. Sounds pretty lonely, actually."

She nodded. "It was, but I got used to it."

Marcus fiddled with his sword hilt. "Do you… do you still feel that way? Have you always been lonely?"

Serana looked at the ground. "Well, a little bit. That's… one of the reasons I wanted to come with you." She bit her lip for a moment, thinking, then she looked up at Marcus. "But what about you?"

He blinked. 'What about me?"

"Do you get lonely? Or are there… people in your life?

Marcus thought for a moment, a bit of conflict going on behind his eyes. "I mean, I've got a lot of friends. You've met a few of them; those at the college, my housecarls, and a few other people I've adventured with over my travels."

"Anyone else?" Serana asked. "Any… significant others?"

"Oh, no," Marcus smiled, and shook his head. "Not for me. Though, I have gotten very close to a few girls in the past, but it's never exactly worked out."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

Marcus shrugged, walking over to the lever that could unlock the next section of the Volkihar ruins. "I'm not. Pursuing any of the relationships further wouldn't have turned out well. I'd never be a good husband, or father, for that matter."

Serana smiled idly. "That didn't stop my parents."

Marcus chuckled. "Even so, I'm just not the right kind of guy. I spend most of my time exploring dimly lit, dusty dungeons and caves, battling the sorts of things most people only see in their nightmares. The only time I ever go to one of my houses is to store something, or get a quick rest. That's just not a recipe for a happy household."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Plus, you've heard of all the stories of a hero's girlfriend getting kidnapped by the evil villain, then the hero has to go save the day. While everything works out in the end in those stories, real life doesn't have the same restrictions. I've got a gigantic target painted on my back, and anyone who gets too close would have a similar one on their back."

"Really? Who would want to kill the great hero of Skyrim?"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Oh man, you don't even want to know how many answers that question has."

Serana frowned. "Well, if you have so many enemies, why not kill them?"

Marcus sighed, and pulled the lever. "It's not so simple. I can hardly wage a one-man war against the entire Aldmeri Dominion, or against a conglomerate of paranoid Imperial politicians. And it's impossible to stamp out the remnants of every organization I've destroyed, either. There's always going to be someone out there who wants me dead."

Serana looked him in the eyes, concern touching her features. "That… that sounds like a rough deal. I'm sorry… I didn't know."

Marcus nodded. "No-one ever does. But don't worry about it. Technically, I'm the best equipped person to deal with my own problems, in a confrontational sense anyway. Let's keep going."

"I hope it all changes for you, one day." Serana said, following behind him. "You deserve a happy life."

Marcus sighed. "I really, truly don't."

He continued walking, leaving Serana with a look of confused sadness behind him.

* * *

After another 30 minutes of wading through the dregs and muck that flowed down from the upper sections of the castle, like piles of bones, blood-filled mud, and other substances, Marcus and Serana came to the garden.

Marcus wasn't too sure what he was expecting exactly, when it came to the style of the garden itself. Probably a lot of nightshade and deathbells, if he was being honest with himself. A lot of vegetation symbolizing death or the like. What he wasn't expecting was an actual dead garden. As in, the plants were all dead.

Serana walked past him, her posture slumping. "Oh no..." she breathed out. "What happened here? Everything's been torn down… it's all dead, like we're the first to set foot here in centuries."

"Looks like it," Marcus affirmed.

They walked around the courtyard, coming to a large doorway that had been collapsed with rubble.

Serana gestured to it with a hand. "This used to lead to the castle's great hall. It looks like my father had it sealed up." She turned around and faced the garden again, looking down at it in its entirety. Her face was very sombre. "I used to walk through here after evening meals. It was beautiful… It… do you know how beautiful something can be when it's tended by a master for hundreds of years?"

Marcus shook his head forlornly. "I can only imagine."

Serana began walking to the centre of the garden. "Mother would've hated to see it like this..." She came to a large sundial in the centre, and something caught her eye. She knelt down to examine it. "Wait… something's off with the moondial here. It's missing some of its crests"

"A moondial?" Marcus frowned. "What's that?"

"It's like a sundial, except it's to show the phases of the moons, Masser and Secunda."

Does it work?"

"That's the thing," Serana shrugged. "What's the point of a moondial? I always wondered why she didn't just get it ripped out, but she loved it, or something. I guess it's like having a piece of art, if you're into that sort of thing."

Marcus looked closely at the moondial. "It's askew, as well. Maybe your mother is trying to tell us something. Let's have a look for those crests, and see if we can re-attach them."

Serana nodded. "If you think that's a good idea."

They hunted around the garden looking for the crests, and after a little effort, found them. After reattaching them to the moondial, the entire thing began to shift. The dial itself whirred, and clicked a few places to the right. Then a large staircase was revealed, descending downwards.

Serana smiled. "Very clever, mother. Very clever indeed." She looked over at Marcus. "I've never been in these tunnels, but I'd bet they run right under the courtyard and into the tower ruins. We're getting closer."

Marcus nodded in agreement. "Definitely. Let's go. Stay on guard."

* * *

The tower ruins were populated mainly by skeletons and cobwebs. It wasn't too much of a challenge, until they came to a larger room filled with several statues. Gargoyles.

Marcus approached them warily, weapons drawn. He glanced back at Serana. "Are these the stone kind or the alive kind?"

Serana frowned inquisitively at them, and was about to answer when the gargoyle itself beat her to it.

It burst out of its thin stone shell, and threw itself at Marcus. It barreled into him with the strength of a horse, and knocked him onto his back. It used each of its arms to pin Marcus' hands to the floor, and set of lunging at his neck and face area with its gnashing teeth. His armor protected him for the most part, but it was only a matter of time before the creature found a gap or buckle, and gained access to the soft flesh below.

Marcus was kicking and thrashing with all his strength, but in such a position he was fighting a defensive battle.

Then a large ice spear crashed into the gargoyle and burrowed through its head, pushing it off the young man. Instantly, Marcus leaped onto his feet and dove onto the wounded creature, using his body weight to push his sword through its tough stony hide, and into its heart. It wriggled a bit, then died.

Marcus looked up, and was about to breath a word of thanks to Serana when the other two statues in the room burst into similar gargoyles. They each looked at the closest gargoyle to them, and shuffled closer to each other, back-to-back.

The two gargoyles leapt at them, arms and claws outstretched.

Marcus ducked under one swipe from his gargoyle, and then slashed off a few of its fingers with his sword, before kicking it a few feet backwards. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Serana drop to her knees to dodge a biting lunge from her gargoyle. As she crouched down, and the mouth of teeth clamped together over her head, Marcus spun around and stabbed it in the face, before ripping the blade out and spinning back around to block a second attack from his opponent.

Serana capitalized on the distraction Marcus had given her, fired an ice spike at the chest of the gargoyle in front of her, staggering it backwards, then stood up and pulled out her dagger. She landed a few lucky slashes on its neck and face, before it batted her dagger aside. Its talons opened several cuts on her hand and knocked her weapon out of her grasp, tossing it across the room. The gargoyle then knocked her to the ground with the back of its hand.

Marcus was trading blows with the other gargoyle, each foe not managing to break through the tough armour of the other with lighter attacks. The gargoyle instead opted for a different strategy, and launched itself upwards into the air over him. Marcus slashed at its legs, but could do little to stop it dropping onto him with the weight of a boulder. The air was pushed out of his lungs, and he felt his ribs gyrate against each other under the burden of the beast.

When Serana was knocked to the ground, her head was facing Marcus, and thus she saw the situation he was in. Disregarding the triumphant gargoyle right in front of her, she raised her right arm and fired another icy spear directly into the back of Marcus' gargoyle's neck, which she knew from past study to be a weaker spot with softer skin.

The gargoyle standing over Marcus collapsed onto him, pinning him to the ground and restricting him so he could only move his arms. He glanced over at the direction the icy spear had come from, seeing Serana about to get mauled by the second gargoyle. Thinking quick, he extended his more free left arm quickly, and flung his dagger towards Serana.

"Knife!" he yelled, grabbing her attention.

Serana reached out and grabbed the knife from the air as it spun towards her, then buried it into the eye of the gargoyle about to bite through her throat. The broad blade sunk deep into the monster's skull, and it shuddered for a moment, before falling to the ground dead.

Then there was silence, broken only by the pants of Marcus and Serana.

With a bit of effort, Marcus wriggled out from under the monster, as Serana clambered to her feet. She walked over and passed him his dagger. "Nice throw," she breathed.

"Nice shot," Marcus replied, nodding towards the gargoyle with an ice spike protruding from the front and back of its throat. "I've forgotten how handy it is having someone else along for the ride."

She smiled, before breathing out and drawing herself back up to her full composure. "Glad I can be of some use."

"Hmm, more than 'some'." Marcus looked around. "Can you see where to go from here? Seems like a dead end."

Serana glanced around the room. "I don't think we've reached the top yet. Have a look around, I bet there's some kind of secret passage."

They searched the room for a few minutes, until Marcus leaned on a candlestick in the wall and it opened up a section of wall.

Serana watched the wall slide upwards into the roof with a smile. "Leave it to my mother… always smarter than I gave her credit for."

They continued for a while more, until they came up to a set of stairs spiraling around. Serana examined the stonework, noticing how it was becoming much better maintained as they went further up.

Marcus looked back at her. "Hey, did you know that your mother was keeping gargoyles here?"

"No, not that I ever saw. My mother had a bit of a thing for magical constructs."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well… to each their own, I guess."

Serana groaned. "Not… not what you're thinking. She just found them fascinating."

"Huh." Marcus nodded, then continued up ahead for a little, taking the steps two at a time. Serana followed behind him. A few moments later, she heard his voice drift down from behind a corner up ahead.  
"Serana?" he called. "You're… gonna want to see this."

Serana turned the final corner and walked through a doorway to see a large room, made much smaller by a plethora of magical and alchemical equipment. Bookshelves, storage cupboards, tables, and instruments were everywhere.

"Woah..." Serana breathed. "Look at this place. This must be it."  
"Have you ever been here?" Marcus asked. "Did she ever mention this place?"

Serana shook her head. "No. I had no idea she had a setup like this. She must've spent years collecting all this stuff." She walked over to the middle of the room, which had a large rune carved into the floor. "And what's this thing? I'm not sure about the circle, but it's obviously… something."

"I'll bet," Marcus said smiling. "Things usually are."

"Things are what?"

"Something."

Serana had a brief look of confusion, before understanding dawned on her and she shot him a look, but couldn't help a faint smile touch her face. "Let's take a look around. There has to be something here that tells us where she's gone. Notes or something. She was always meticulous about her research."

"Like a notebook?"

"Exactly, I remember she used to keep a small journal. Let's see if we can dig it up."

They set to searching the place. Marcus found it hard to concentrate when he kept coming across magical instruments the like of which he'd never seen. He could think of a few people at the College who would've given their left arm for a few minutes in this room. He couldn't imagine how Valerica had managed to accumulate all this and bring it all into this room, then he remembered she was immortal. In fact, much of this stuff might've been more commonplace a few thousand years ago.

That reminded Marcus of how little he knew about what Serana's parents were like before she was sealed away.

As he rifled through one bookshelf, he glanced over at her. "While we're not being attacked or anything, would you mind telling me a bit more about your family?"

Serana looked behind at him, before continuing with her search while she spoke. "There's not a whole lot to tell. You've already seen my father and his obsession. My mother's not a whole lot better, but you'll see that soon enough.

"Were you close with them, once upon a time?"

Serana bit her lip, "My father… no, not really. I did spend a lot of time with my mother, but she saw me more like a protege than a daughter." She opened a book and flicked through it, and a thought entered her mind. "What about you?"

Marcus look up from his search at her. "Huh?"

Serana turned to face him, and leaned on a table idly. "I mean, what are your parents like?"

Marcus instantly stiffened, his face turning unreadable. He looked away, sideways, at the ground. "I… I don't…" He forced himself to take a deep breath. Serana immediately regretted asking him.

Marcus slowly composed himself. "They… were good people, once upon a time. Gone now. I miss them."

Serana's hand went to cover her mouth with surprise. "Oh… I'm sorry. Didn't mean to bring up a bad memory."

Marcus shook his head. "It's fine. Or it should be. I ought to get over myself. It was a long time ago… they both died at the same time really, one was just buried a long time after the other."

"Do you have any siblings?"

Marcus' face froze. His entire body froze. The colour seemed to leave his skin for a moment. He was silent for two whole seconds before he returned to reality. "I don't talk about that." His voice was almost whisper-quiet.

Serana felt terrible, she rushed over to him. "I'm really sorry… I shouldn't have -"

Marcus held up a hand to silence her. At first Serana thought he was mad, then he reached out and grabbed something from the shelf in front of him.

He said, "Found the journal."

When he turned to face her, and hand it over, he was back to normal. Same expression, same posture, everything. Serana took the book, and read through the final pages, reciting out loud what she discovered, eager to get away from the previous topic after Marcus' reaction.

"Soul Cairn?" Marcus frowned. "First I've ever heard of that."

"I only know what she told me. She had a theory that the souls inside soul gems didn't just vanish when they're used, but end up in the Soul Cairn."

"Is that where she's gone?"

Serana checked the pages again, and nodded. "The circle in the centre of the room is a type of portal. There's an alchemical formula here for the basin up on the second level, it should give us safe passage into the Soul Cairn. We just need a handful of soul gem shards, finely-ground bone meal, a bit of purified void salts, and… damn it."

"What's wrong?"

"We need a sample of her blood, and there's no way to get that."

Marcus thought for a moment. "What about you? You technically share Valerica's blood."

"Hmmm..." Serana chewed her lip. "Maybe. Let's hope that's good enough. Mistakes with this sort of thing can be messy. Anyway, enough of that, let's get started."

It didn't take long for them to find the ingredients, and throw them all in the basin up on the balcony above the first laboratory floor. Serana couldn't help shake the memory of Marcus' face when she'd asked him about his siblings. Like some kind of horror, filled with unimaginable guilt.

Marcus held out his dagger to her, then nodded somewhat apologetically to the basin. "Here, this might help."

Serana smiled reassuringly at him. "No need." She raised her hand to her mouth, and used her sharp fangs to make a small incision in her wrist. Holding her hand out over the basin, the blood trickled down her wrist and into the bowl. Instantly, the mixture began to glow, and the circle on the floor below them cracked apart, purple light leaking in through the gaps.

The floor heaved, and split into sections. The remains of the circle drifted upwards and formed a pathway down into the heart of the swirling purple light that had been formed below them. Marcus looked in awe at it, before sighing at himself.

 _Another day, another adventure, another portal into another dimension._ He thought half-heartedly.

"You ready?" he asked Serana.  
She nodded. "After you."

Marcus took a few steps down into the purple light, and suddenly felt a draining feeling. Another step down, and a tendril of light lashed out at him, leeching away some kind of energy from him. Marcus dropped to his knees on the stairs, suddenly feeling unable to carry the weight of the armor on his back. His muscles groaned in protest at the mere action of trying to go back up the stairs.

Serana gasped in fear, rushing down and dragging him to safety, pulling his body at dead weight up the stairs to the top in a matter of seconds.

Marcus blinked blearily. The pain in his limbs began to fade, as did the feeling of general exhaustion.

Serana looked at him, checking his eyes. "Are you alright? That looked really painful."

Marcus breathed out, sitting upright. "It was… what the hell happened?"

Serana looked guilty. "Now that I think of it, I should have expected that. Sorry. The Soul Cairn is… well, hungry. It's trying to take your life essence, sort of as payment for entering."

"So there's no way I can get in?"

Serana looked a little tentative. "There… might be, but I doubt you'll like it. Vampires aren't counted among the living. I could probably go through without a problem."

Marcus blinked. "Are… are you saying I need to become a vampire?"

Serana looked at him forlornly. "Not your first choice, I'd imagine."

Marcus shook his head vigourously. "There's gotta be another way."

Serana thought for a moment. "Maybe… we could just pay the toll another way. If it wants a soul, we give it one. Yours."

Marcus stood up, a little shaky. "But… that'd kill me..."

Serana put her hands on her hips. "Please, have a little faith. My mother taught me a trick or two. I could partially soul trap you, and offer that gem to the Ideal Masters. Given the nature of your soul in particular, that'd satisfy them. It'd make you weaker when we travel through the Soul Cairn, but we might be able to fix that once we're inside. Possibly."

Marcus breathed out, his face giving off the vibe of a trapped animal. He placed a hand on a railing to steady himself. It was all a bit much to take in. Offer a bit of his soul, a dragon soul, or become a vampire. "That's… those are my only options?"

Serana looked at her feet. "I'm sorry, Marcus, but those are the only things we can do. I wish I knew a better way, something that would be easier for you..." She looked up at him, and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Just know that… whatever you choose, I won't think any less of you. Sometimes things just have to be done. I know that better than anyone."

Marcus looked in her eyes, then back at the portal to the Soul Cairn. The purple lights seemed to dance around chaotically, licking at the world around them. Tasting the ground and air with little tendrils of energy. There was no knowing what might be on the other side. What might be waiting for them.

Marcus closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths, cursing his luck for what he'd have to do to himself this time. He'd thrown his body into the fray countless times, but this would be different. Given the situation, there was only one logical choice for him to make.

He opened his eyes, and looked into Serana's two bright orange ones. "I… I can't afford to be weaker in there. We don't know what we'll be facing. I… I'll have to become a vampire."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: I've had a lot of busy personal stuff going on. I'm heading to University in a few weeks and have had to sort out accommodation, transport, and other important irl things which have taken up a lot of time. Not sure if the delays will be a short-term thing or not, but I'd like to think I'll still get an update within two weeks maximum. Sorry if this is a bit too long for you all. I'll try and mitigate it in future.**

 **If you want a translation of any words in Dovahzul, just send me a PM. It's a bit hit-and-miss with some of the translators online, I know.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	43. Dawnguard: Chapter 5

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 5 – A Few Home Truths

Serana looked surprised. Clearly, Marcus' choice hadn't been the one she expected. Marcus looked very worried at the notion, but the light behind his eyes indicated he believed in his decision.

Serana asked, "Are you sure? I'm willing to turn you, but you need to think it through. You'd become the very thing you've sworn to destroy. I don't know how the Dawnguard will react."

Marcus sighed, nodding slowly. "I'm sure. I didn't swear to destroy vampires Serana, I swore to protect Skyrim. I… I don't know if I'm doing what is best, but I think it is. Whatever's in the Soul Cairn, I can't afford to be weaker. Better safe than sorry."

Serana smiled in understanding. "Ok. As long as you're certain."  
"I'm as certain as I am about anything."

Her features turned a little shy. "I should mention… Turning someone is a very… personal thing for vampires. It's intimate, for us. I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into this."

Marcus blinked. "I… was not aware. Are you ok with turning me, in that case?"

Serana held her hands out, "I didn't mean it like that, I meant, are you ok with me being the one turning you?"

Marcus looked around the area and shrugged. "I mean, I don't see any other vampires here, so I guess you'll have to do."

Serana frowned. "That's not what I meant..."

Marcus grinned, and patted her shouder. "It's fine, Serana. You're… a good friend. I wouldn't have it any other way."

She smiled at him, before nodding and steeling herself. "Ok. Let's not waste too much time, then."

Marcus reached up, and unclasped his helmet, before lifting it up over his head. The picture of Marcus' face set inside this large set of draconic armor was… strange. But not ill-fitting. He took a few deep breaths, then closed his eyes, and tilted his head so that his neck was exposed to her.

Serana took a step forward, and smiled reassuringly at him. "I promise to try and make this as painless as possible. Hold still."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Serana reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, and gently pulled him closer to her. Her eyes flared a deep crimson, as her mouth opened, and she sunk her teeth into his neck.

The taste of Marcus' blood to Serana was… exhilarating. It was the richest, sweetest, warmest blood she'd ever tasted. The temptation was great for her to drain him dry there and then, but she resisted. Still, her eyes couldn't help but flutter a little with bliss.

Once she was sure the venom in her fangs had taken hold, she withdrew her mouth from his neck, and gently laid him down. Marcus had passed out, of course. Everyone always did the first time they were turned.

She laid him down on the ground, sitting upright against the railing. She felt a pang of concern, knowing that not everyone managed to survive their turning. Deaths were rare, and Marcus was exceptionally strong-willed, but there was still a chance. She felt guilty, not having mentioned that to him before she'd turned him.

After a few minutes, he began to stir. Most of the colour had drained from his face, and his lips had become darker. Marcus shivered a little, then took a deep breath and opened his eyes. They burned brighter than every, a more vivid orange, almost red. Serana looked down at him with a concerned expression.

"How do you feel?" She asked nervously.

Marcus looked a bit unsure of himself. He held a hand up to his face, seeing his skin so much paler. "I feel… cold."

She smiled sadly, "Yeah, it's a bit like that."

Then he flexed his hand, and curled it into a fist. "But… really strong too. I feel like I could kick a cow across the room. This is… This'll take some getting used to."

"Well," Serana looked over at the portal. "If my suspicions about what's waiting on the other side of that portal is correct, you'll probably get your chance to test yourself out."

Marcus tried to stand up, but found he couldn't. Not yet. He collapsed into Serana's arms, and she gently laid him back down again, smiling. "Give it another minute," She said.

He leaned against the stone, then reached up and touched his face. "How do I look? Any different? I wish I had a mirror."

Serana looked at him and gave a smile. "You look fine, trust me. Just a bit paler."

"Hmm… Well, can't be helped. I guess."

He breathed in and out a few times, getting his bearings. He placed a hand on his neck, feeling the place where Serana had bitten him. She looked away, a little shamefaced, upon seeing him do this. Marcus also noticed he didn't have a pulse. He needed to rest for a moment, and gather himself.

He looked down at the portal, and remembered something, a question he was going to ask earlier. "Can I ask you something, Serana?"

"Of course. What is it?"

He looked at her with a curious look. "What will you do if we find your mother? What will you say?"

She looked surprised at his question, then hung her head with indecision. "I've been asking myself that same question, you know. Every since we arrived back at the castle. She was so sure of what we did to my father, I couldn't help but go along with her. I never thought of the cost."

"Sounds tough… I'm not sure what she was thinking."

"Neither am I." Serana shrugged. "She always seemed happy, before we heard the prophecy. Then it all changed. She became a different person. Both of them did."

Marcus sighed, chewing his lip. "I guess we won't know until we find her."

She nodded. "Yes… yes, you're right. I'm sorry, I just didn't expect anyone to care how I felt about her."

"I meant what I said earlier, Serana." Marcus smiled reassuringly at her. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't care how you felt?"

Serana's expression softened at his sword, and she cast her gaze to the side, a blush touching her cheeks. She looked unsure of herself. "I… thank you. Are we ready then? Do you need to rest any longer?"

Marcus pulled himself to his feet, and pushed his helmet back onto his head, rolling his shoulders. "No. I feel fine. In fact, I feel better than fine. I feel scary."

Then he marched down into the purple abyss, vanishing from sight a moment later.

* * *

Marcus looked around. He was at the top of a floating stone staircase leading down into the Soul Cairn. The place was… hellish. Like someone had taken the world and added the notion of 'death' to every single rock, plant, structure, and geological formation. The sky was the freakiest thing. It reminded him of Sovngarde, in a distant way. The large circular swirling mass of colour, except instead of inspiring awe, it just filled him with dread.

It seemed to almost want to swallow him, like it was halfway through lunging at the ground and consuming it. Marcus cast his gaze back down to the ground.

A zap was heard behind him, as Serana entered the dimension. He heard her gasp, as she took in the surroundings. She took a few steps down, next to him.

She said, "I'd heard stories about the Soul Cairn, but never thought I'd see it myself. So far it's… about what I imagined."

Marcus nodded in agreement. "It looks like Oblivion, except they replaced everything on fire with something black or purple."

"I can't imagine choosing to come here… look at this place. My mother must have been terrified."

Marcus raised an eyebrow slightly. For Serana's mother to be this scared of Harkon… and Serana had said her mother was a lot more powerful than she was.

They moved down into the Soul Cairn, following a basic dirt path through the strange tombstones and dead trees. It was hard going. They weren't sure if they were even heading in the right direction. They made small detours away from the path, to check out larger structures, but maintained a strict rule to always keep the path in sight, lest they become lost and wander aimlessly. Time slipped away from them, without any real way to track it. They felt like they'd been walking for a while, occasionally fighting off small groups of black skeletons that roamed around the path. Eventually, they came to a large wall, seemingly separating one half of the Soul Cairn from the other. They walked up the stairs, to see the other half. In the far distance, was a large structure, with glowing spires of swirling purple light.

Marcus remarked, "If she's anywhere, that's probably where."

"Agreed."

Marcus sighed, feeling rather tired. He knew he wouldn't feel that rested unless he slept in a coffin, but he wanted a break nonetheless. A glance at Serana indicated she felt the same way, her posture appearing beaten-down.

"Let's have a rest for a while." Marcus said. Serana instantly looked relieved, and she sat down in a heap, leaning against some stone.

Marcus sat down too, just opposite her, facing the structure in the distance. They rested in silence for a while, each minding their own thoughts.

Serana looked like she had something to say, but was debating it. Like she didn't know if it would be wise to ask. Marcus watched her struggle with the decision for a while, before he made it for her.

"What's on your mind?"

Serana looked up from playing with her lip in thought, and her face looked apologetic. "I was just wondering something, but it's fine if you don't want to tell me."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. With him, that could mean her question was about any of a hundred things. "What did you want to ask, exactly?"

"I… Who was Erik, and what happened to him?"

Marcus' face fell, and he sighed. "You really want to know? Fine, I'll tell you."

Serana looked surprised that he'd actually agreed.

Marcus began, fiddling with a strap on his wrist armour. "Erik was a farmhand in Rorikstead when I met him. He had a similar story to a lot of people I've met. Young, craving adventure, wanted to see more than rows of crops each day. He asked me to help him out, so I took him to Whiterun for some equipment and training from the Companions. You've heard of them, haven't you?"

Serana nodded, waiting on Marcus to continue.

"Anyway, he fancied himself as an adventurer, but he still had a lot to learn, so I took him on a few little escapades. We kicked the asses of some bandits, some daedra, and a few wild creatures. It was fun, in a way. He was…He was a good guy, and a friend."

The gears in Serana's mind worked. She began to see where this was leading.

Marcus' eyes looked detached, like he wasn't actually seeing what was in front of him. "While he was training with the Companions, he got attached to a girl named Ria, and they began seeing each other more often. Fast forward down the line a few months or so, and they were getting married. They were expecting a child, too."

Marcus took a deep breath. Preparing to recount the next part was taking some effort. "But he wasn't content to stay at home all the time, very much like me. After hearing about some stories from my housecarl in Whiterun about when she'd fought Dragons beside me, he insisted on coming with me to slay one. This was a couple months ago. I warned him it was dangerous, but he figured that being beside the 'great Dragonborn' would mean he wasn't in much harm."

Marcus sighed, shaking his head forlornly at the ground. "It… didn't go well."

* * *

" _So that's it, then." Erik whispered, crouched beside Marcus, looking over the top of a boulder. "Gods, it's a big one."_

" _They're all big," Marcus replied. "This one is actually smaller than the norm."_

 _The Dragon in question was a frost variant, long and spiky, coloured with whites and soft greys._

" _Really?" Erik turned his head to face Marcus with disbelief. "How the hell do you manage against these things? On your own, too."_

 _Marcus smiled at him, and drew his sword. "You're about to find out."_

 _He ran out from behind the boulder, charging at the Dragon. It spotted him, and roared a string of Dovahzul as it took to the sky. Marcus replied by shouting Dragonrend at it. The green energy sapped at the creature's skin, and it came crashing to the ground._

 _Erik grinned from behind the boulder, and drew his weapon. He hadn't felt this exhilarated in a very long time. Following behind Marcus, the two charged at the beast._

 _Erik was smart enough to stay a decent distance away from the beast, and well clear of its head, while Marcus kept the Dragon preoccupied with magic, shouts, and dodging. The two men landed a score of cuts and slashes on its wings, neck, and torso before it took to the sky again._

 _It circled them, Marcus not using Dragonrend immediately as he'd just used a different shout moments earlier. Eventually, it came in for a strafe, blasting a line of frost along the ground towards them. Marcus pointed to a nearby rock._

" _Get behind that! Let me be the target!"_

 _Erik nodded in understanding, and leapt behind the rock._

 _Marcus planted his sword in the ground, and channeled a thunderbolt with both hands to strike the creature where it wing connected with its body. The magical attack struck true, and before the beast could reach Marcus with its frost breath, it crashed into the ground for the second time. It glared up at him, and as Marcus reached down to pull his sword out of the ground, it breathed a whirlwind of frost at him. He was only able to get his left hand up to raise a ward spell, and didn't have enough time to charge it properly before the frost hit him._

 _The ward shattered, dealing little damage but transferring enough force to Marcus to knock him backwards. The Dragon lunged across the ground at him, jaws widening as it got closer._

 _Behind the Dragon, Erik could see Marcus was in danger. He leapt out from behind the rock and sprinted at the Dragon, weapon raised. The wyrm saw the movement in the corner of its eye, and swung its heavy spiked tail at the approaching figure with lightning fast motion. Marcus watched as the barbs on the Dragon tail smacked into Erik's chest, picked him up, and flung him across the mountaintop._

 _Blood sprayed through the air like the mist at the bottom of a waterfall. Two large holes were visible on Erik's chest as he spun through the air. One under his left collarbone, another just at the bottom of his ribs. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Marcus couldn't do anything._

* * *

Marcus sighed. "I don't really remember what happened after that, in detail. I know the Dragon died. I butchered it, really. Then I carried Erik's body back to his home. It… was not easy."

Serana looked down at the ground, rubbing her hands nervously. "I… I see why you didn't want to talk about it."

"I try not to blame myself too much," Marcus sighed, leaning back and staring up into the sky. "But much of the fault still falls on me, regardless of how much people try to tell me otherwise. I let Erik come along to a fight I knew would be dangerous, I failed to protect him well enough, and it ended with a wife no longer having a husband… a son, having to grow up without a father."

Marcus looked depressed. Despite the blocky design of his armour, he was radiating a sense of regret and sadness. His eyes, the only visible part of himself, were dimmer. Hollow, almost.

Marcus said, "I tended not to travel with people after that. You're the first person I've actually been since that incident for any decent duration of time."

They lapsed into silence, Marcus' thoughts traveling around and around in a miserable pattern. Serana, desperately trying to think of something to say to make him feel better.

She said suddenly. "You're the first person to call me a friend, you know."

Marcus jerked his head upwards. "What?"

"Back in mother's laboratory. You said I was a good friend. No-one has ever said that to me before."

Marcus' eyes narrowed in confused disbelief. "You… you mean in your entire life, spanning centuries, no-one's said that you were a good friend to them?"

"Marcus, I've never even had a friend before, period."

"I… why bring this up?"

"Because I can see the hurt in your eyes, and I want you to know you did a good thing today, no matter how small you think it was."

Marcus went quiet, looking down at his heavily armored hands. He hadn't mentioned what he'd done after he'd delivered Erik's body to his grief-stricken wife. How… uncharacteristic he'd acted.

* * *

 _Marcus staggered away from Whiterun. It was growing dark, the sky was heavy with rainclouds. He could hardly think straight, just dragging himself aimlessly in one direction, never seeing where he was going. All he could see was Erik's body, the lifeless eyes once so filled with excitement now dead and bland. Then the moment he'd told Ria played through his mind. The moment her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, and she collapsed in the doorway._

 _His mind was a mess. He had hundreds of clamoring, ferocious feelings racing through his heart, tearing him to pieces._

 _Marcus found himself amongst trees, on a gradual incline sloping up a mountain. He didn't know where he was going. He just needed to… get away. Away from himself, away from the grief, away from the cloaked figure of death that stalked his every move._

 _Rain began to fall. Slow at first, but steadily picking up in volume and speed. It began to pound away at the earth. Marcus slipped and fell several times in the mud, as he clambered mindlessly up the small mountain. Moving faster and faster, but feeling like he wasn't moving at all._

 _Thunder boomed overhead. Lightning crackled. Marcus' breaths came in short, panicked bursts. He came to a clearing on top of the mountain, at almost a cliff. All there was in front of him was the dark pattern of rapid rain against a black sky. Marcus fell to his knees. One question entered his head._

 _Why couldn't it have been him?_

" _Why Erik, and not me…?" Marcus said softly to himself._

 _He looked up at the sky, and said it louder. "Why Erik, and not me?"_

 _The sky pelted him with rain in response, the drops feeling cold and hard against his face._

 _Marcus' heart was gripped with anger. Betrayed, hopeless anger._

" _Why take Erik!?" Marcus shouted at the heavens, at Akatosh, at any and all Gods responsible for his situation. "What do I have to give this world, that he couldn't?! What more do I have to do?!"_

 _Thunder boomed overhead. It was a harsh noise, as if the Gods were angry he'd question them._

" _I have nothing left to give this world, and there's nothing left for me to take out of it!" Marcus shouted, louder, almost screaming hysterically. "Why keep me here?!"_

 _Lightning crashed down from the sky, striking a tree nearby and exploding it, throwing splinters everywhere. An omen, perhaps. Maybe a warning for the young man to cease his blasphemy._

" _Do it..." Marcus quietened, spitting the words out at the heavens. "Finish it..." He whispered. "Finish me."_

 _The sky crashed with thunderous noise, but nothing else happened. Lighting struck at multiple areas around, but nothing hit him. Then rain began to die down, and Marcus' knees sank deeper into the mud, feeling more tired than he ever had before. He didn't want to move from this spot, and he felt like there was no purpose in ever doing so._

 _Marcus hung his head, as tears slowly slid down his cheeks._

* * *

Marcus drifted back into the present. He glanced sideways at Serana's face, she was fiddling with a lace on one of her shoes. She looked up and smiled reassuringly at him.

He did some thinking, then nodded to himself. He pulled himself to his feet. "Thank you for the… kind words, Serana. Are you ready to continue?"

She smiled, and stood up. "Yes. Let's keep going. This place gives me the creeps."

Marcus chuckled, feeling much better. "Yeah, It's funny, I would've thought becoming a vampire would make me more inclined to environments like this."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? Let's find my mother and get out of here quickly."

They crossed the barrens plains, dotted with occasional structures, towards the large castle-like collection of buildings in the distance. They came across a few hysterical ghosts. Most were confused, wondering where they were and what had happened in the last moments of their lives. It was harrowing, to Marcus. He'd never been one for using black soul gems anyway, but he made a mental note to ensure they became outlawed at the College on his next visit. To think someone could be trapped in this place for eternity… Marcus shuddered.

They walked up a large hill, coming to the structure they'd seen in the distance. It had multiple towers with purple light at the tops around it, making it clearly the most important-looking place they'd seen.

When they got closer, they could see a very large barrier of the same purple energy blocking entrance to the interior of the structure. They walked up the stairs, getting a few metres from the barrier itself. Behind it, standing near an alchemy table, was a woman wearing similar clothing to Serana. She had dark hair the same colour, and the same straight-backed posture.

Serana ran forward. "Mother? Mother!"

The woman stepped out, and ran up to the barrier. "Maker… it can't be… Serana?"

Marcus hung a few paces back, not wanting to interfere.

Serana breathed out in deep relief. "Is it really you? I can't believe it! How do we get inside? We have to talk."

Valerica looked anxious, distracted. "Serana, what are you doing here? Where's your father?"

"He doesn't know we're here. I don't have time to explain."

Valerica shook her head. "I must have failed. Harkon's found a way to decipher the prophecy, hasn't he?"

"No, you've got it all wrong. We're here to complete the prophecy our way, not his."

Valerica look up, seemingly noticing Marcus for the first time. Her face contorted to one of shock and mistrust. "Wait a moment… you brought a stranger here? Have you lost your mind?"

Serana held her hands up in an explanatory manner. "No, you don't understand, he -"

Valerica stepped up to the barrier, disregarding Serana's words, and pointed a finger harshly at Marcus. "You. Come forward. I would speak with you."

The young man stepped forward, and folded his arms. "My name is Marcus. I'm -"

"You're a vampire hunter," Valerica spat. "A killer. I can smell the blood on you, amongst many others. How has it come to pass that a vampire hunter is in the company of my daughter? It pains me to think that you'd travel with Serana under the guise of her protector in an effort to hunt me down."

"What?" Marcus baulked. "Why would I hunt you down? There's no ruse going on, we're helping each other."

Valerica glared at him. "Coming from one who murders vampires as a trade, I find it hard to believe your intentions are noble."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Believe me, killing vampires isn't profitable enough for it to be a 'trade'."

"How dare you jest at this time! Serana has sacrificed everything to prevent Harkon from completing the prophecy. I would have expected her to explain that to you."

Marcus nodded, exasperated. "I know, that's why we're here for the Elder Scroll."

"You think I'd have the audacity to place my own daughter in that tomb for the protection of her Elder Scroll alone? The scrolls are merely a means to an end. The key to the Tyranny of the Sun is Serana herself."

"What?" Marcus blinked. "What do you mean?"

Valerica made an annoyed sigh. "When I fled Castle Volkihar, I fled with two Elder Scrolls. The one I presume you found with Serana speaks of Auriel's Bow. The second scroll declares that "The Blood of Coldharbour's Daughter will blind the eye of the Dragon."

"What does Serana have to do with this?" Marcus asked.

"Like myself, Serana was human once. We were devout followers of Lord Molag Bal. Tradition dictates the females be offered to Molag Bal on his summoning day. Few survive the ordeal, but those that do emerge as a pure-blooded vampire. We call such confluences the "Daughters of Coldharbour."

A few things clicked in Marcus' mind as he understood what Valerica was saying. Then a look of cold steel flashed behind his eyes, just for a moment, and he glared at Valerica with crushing scrutiny. The vampire woman felt a token unnerved, just for a moment.

Marcus asked slowly. "Serana underwent this trial willingly?"

Beside him, the younger vampire girl averted her gaze to the side.

"It was expected of her," Valerica stated indignantly. "Just as it was expected of me. Being selected as an offering to Molag Bal is an honor. She wouldn't have dared turn her back on that."

Marcus' eyes were cold, and his face turned bitter, but he held back any more remarks. Now was not the time.

"The 'Tyranny of the Sun' prophecy requires Serana's blood?"

Valerica nodded. "That's why I wanted to protect Serana, and why I've kept the other scroll as far from her as possible."

"Would Harkon kill her over this?"

Valerica sighed, and nodded sadly. "If Harkon obtained the Bow, and Serana's blood was used to taint the weapon, the Tyranny of the Sun would be complete. In his eyes, she'd die for the good of all vampires."

Marcus shook his head firmly. "That's not going to happen."

Valerica snorted. "And how exactly do you plan on completing the prophecy without the death of my daughter?"

"I don't care about the prophecy, or anything to do with it. All I care is about is making sure the world doesn't get fucked over by Harkon, and ensuring as few people as possible die as a result. I'll do whatever I can. I'll fight every vampire in Volkihar Castle, if I have to."

Valerica snorted derisively. "If you believe you can do that, then you're a bigger fool than I originally suspected. Don't you think I weighed that option before I enacted my plans?"

Marcus took a step closer to the barrier. His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, and his eyes narrowed behind his helmet. "Do **not** compare yourself to me. I've faced challenges the rest of the world shied from. You will help us, because Serana and I are the only ones taking any sort of action against this danger."

"You care nothing for Serana, or our plight," Valerica spat. "You may have become one of us to enter the Soul Cairn, but you're only here because we're abominations in your mind; evil creatures that need to be destroyed."

Marcus was about to reply in an angered fashion, but Serana beat him to it.

"Enough, mother!"

Valerica started, looking sideways at her daughter confused. "Serana?"

"You know nothing about Marcus," Serana stated, stepping forward and pointing at her. "You think of him in the same blinded manner you would imagine he thinks of us."

Valerica shot back, "This stranger aligns himself with the people who would hunt you down and slay you like an animal. Yet should I entrust you to him?"

Serana shook her head angrily. "This 'stranger' has done more for me in the brief time I've known him, than you've done in centuries!"

Valerica took a step back, her eyes flaring. "How… dare you?! I gave up everything I cared about to protect you from that fanatic you call a father!"

Serana groaned. "Yes, he's a fanatic, yes he's… changed. But he's still my father." Her face turned desperate. "Why can't you understand how that makes me feel?"

"Oh Serana, if you'd only open your eyes… The moment your father discovers your role in the prophecy, that he needs your blood, you'll be in terrible danger!"

Serana stepped forward, her patience finally snapping. She gritted her teeth and cried out in anger, clenching her hands into fists and storming right up to the barrier. Marcus took a few steps back involuntarily from the almost raging woman. He hadn't seen her like this before…

Serana stared into her mother's eyes. "So to protect me you decided to shut me away from anything I ever cared about?!"

Valerica's eyes widened, her posture wavered.

Serana continued. "You never asked me if hiding me in that tomb was the best course of action, you just expected me to follow you blindly. Both of you were obsessed with your own paths. Your motivations might have been different, but in the end..." She shook her head in disgust. "I'm just a pawn to you too. Have I ever been anything different?"

Serana quietened down, and lowered her head slightly. "I want us to be a family again. But I don't know if we can ever have that. Maybe we don't deserve that kind of happiness, maybe it isn't for us. But we have to stop him, before he goes too far. And to do that, we need the Elder Scroll."

Valerica look stunned. Her mouth was slightly agape. Marcus was glad he's added the small amount of chainmail over the mouthpiece on his helmet, or else everyone would notice his expression was basically the same.

He had no idea Serana had been carrying around so much under her cool visage. He'd gotten the impression that she was a little at-odds with her mother, but not to this extent. And the statement about wanting to be a family again… and that she felt she didn't deserve it… that was crushing.

Valerica blinked a few times, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Serana. I didn't know… I didn't see. I've allowed my hatred of your father to estrange us for too long. Forgive me. If you want the Elder Scroll, it's yours."

Valerica turned to Marcus, her face softening a little bite. "Your intentions are still unclear to me, but for Serana's sake I'll assist you any way that I can."

"Do you have the elder scroll with you?" Marcus asked.

"Yes, I've kept it safe. Fortunately, you're in a position to breach the barrier that surrounds these ruins. You need to locate the tallest of the rocky spires that surrounds these ruins, destroy the keepers that are tending them, and it should bring this barrier down."

Marcus nodded in understanding, and asked a few more questions about the barrier itself, the keepers, and the Soul Cairn. Valerica didn't seem to pleased to elaborate on how she'd been tricked into remaining here, but she told him nonetheless.

"One last thing," Valerica said to him, as he was about to leave. "There's a Dragon that calls itself Durnehviir roaming the Cairn. Be wary of him, as they've charged him with overseeing the keepers. He'll intervene if you're perceived as a threat."

Marcus smiled. "Oh, I don't think I should worry too much about that." Then he turned and went to leave. Serana coughed quietly behind him.

She said, "I'd like a few moments alone with my mother, if you don't mind waiting for a little while."

Her tone implied she simply wanted a friendly talk, so Marcus nodded. "Of course. Take as long as you need."

He walked down the steps and sat down just out of earshot of the barrier. Serana and Valerica spoke for a long time. Their voices never raised, so Marcus assumed the conversation was civil. He could see a few of the rocky spires from where he was. There were three, from what he could tell.

He was fiddling with his dagger when he heard footsteps behind him. Marcus looked up to see Serana there, with a relieved expression on her face.

He asked. "You good?"

"Yes," Serana nodded. "I'm good. Thanks for waiting."

Marcus chuckled. "Hardly had much of a choice. I'm sure not walking around this place on my own."

"Well… thanks anyway."

"Come on," he stood up and sheathed his blade. "We've got some keeper things to kill."

* * *

The keepers were a challenge, but not an unmanageable one. One was able to be shouted off it's hovering tower, and the other two were beaten down by Marcus and Serana combining arms. The young man found his new vampire strength… unnervingly satsifying. He was able to block a huge, thundering overhead strike from a Keeper's battleaxe with only his sword, without spraining his arm like he normally would from such a blow. His strength, while already considerable from the amount of Dragon souls and ethereal energies he'd channeled through himself, was only multiplied by the vampirism.

While Marcus knew it was helpful, he kept drawing similarities between it and the lycanthropy he'd been 'afflicted' with so long ago. It helped him in a fight, but at the cost of his humanity, which he felt was dwindling enough already. In short, he didn't know what to think. He wasn't sure if it was the kind of thing to bring up with Serana, either.

As they were walking back to the ruins in which Valerica dwelt, Serana sensed something was off about him. Marcus was so enveloped in his thoughts, he kept tripping over small stones and the 'soul husks' that littered the Cairn.

"Something's on your mind." She stated, matter-of-factly.

He looked up from the ground passing beneath him, a token surprised. "Is it that obvious?"

"From what I can tell, the only time something isn't on your mind, you're in the middle of combat."

Marcus smiled, a little shamefaced. "Yeah well, I've been told that's part and parcel of being a Dragon. Or half-Dragon. We're introspective."

"So what is it? Or would you rather not talk about it?"

Marcus sighed, looking up in the distance as they walked. "It's… about the whole vampirism thing. I don't feel too different, really. But I'm worried I'll end up getting attached to the power, or I'll get corrupted. I already a little… thirsty."

"It's… not easy." Serana admitted. "But if it's much consolation, I don't imagine anything getting in the way of what you think is right. You're… stalwart, in what you believe."

"Hmm… I wasn't always like that. I was a werewolf once, you know."

"Really?" Serana blinked. "You don't strike me as the type to be one of those."

"I'm not. That's why I cured myself. It was… confusing. My thoughts were always clouded. I'd walk through a forest and constantly get the desire to hunt something. Being so permanently on-edge… if vampirism is anything like that, I'd rather not have much to do with it."

Serana looked sideways, before nodding to herself. "Well, you do what you think is right. We each make our own choices."

Marcus nodded. "Quite right. I'll just have to give it more thought."

They walked in silence, before Serana started snickering. Marcus turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

She said with a smile. "I'm trying to imagine you howling at the moon."

He frowned, before reciprocating the smile. "Yeah, I'd imagine I'd look pretty stupid. Being a vampire is much more classy, I'll bet."

"It has its benefits, but has its share of messiness too."

They continued to walk in silence until they reached Valerica. They'd come across a few friendly ghosts as they'd wandered through here, and Marcus wanted to come back and explore them a little further. Serana was pretty adamant on leaving this place behind her, so he'd probably have to do it alone at a later date. The place was depressing, but Blackreach had taught him that the best secrets were found in the most inhospitable places.

Valerica was waiting for them, her arms folded and a look of subtle bemusement on her face. "You managed to destroy all three keepers? Very impressive."

"We're full of surprises," Serana smiled.

Marcus asked. "Will you be able to give us the scroll now?"

Valerica nodded. "Yes, please follow me. Keep watch for Durnehviir. With the prison's barrier down, he's almost certain to investigate."

"Very well," Marcus nodded, not particularly worried.

They walked forward, passing by Valerica's laboratory, and past a tall gate into the interior of the ruins. Inside was a huge courtyard, lined with the occasional set of tombstones and a wall flanking the edges. The tombstones themselves were tall, like the rest in the Soul Cairn, with some standing the height of two people.

As Marcus walked into the open, his heart rate quickened. His hands instantly strayed to the hilts of his weapons. A second later, a roar filled the air.

Serana looked around, worried. "Wait… What was that?"

Valerica's face went pale. Or paler, rather. She spoke in a hurried voice. "It's Durnehviir… he's here! Defend yourselves!"

Under his helmet, Marcus' face split into a grin. _Finally,_ he thought, _Some familiar territory._

While Valerica and Serana hung back, under the cover of the entrance roof, Marcus walked out into the open, seeing the telltale silhouette of a Dragon circling outside the walls, set against the purple sky.

"What are you doing, you fool?!" Valerica hissed. "Get back to cover!"

Marcus stopped, and turned. His eyes sparkled. "Trust me." His voice was firm, confident.

Then he faced toward the courtyard, and kept walking. He drew his sword in one smooth motion.

"He's going to get himself killed," Valerica muttered to Serana. "And you said you trusted this man?"

Serana knew Marcus was a talented fighter, and had fought Dragons in the past, but she had no way of knowing how tough those battles were in comparison to a Dragon like Durnehviir. She didn't think her mother was assuming correctly, but she was still very concerned.

Marcus called out to the beast circling. "Gein miiraad nunon, qiilan uv dir!"

He got a roar in response. It wasn't in Dovahzul, so Marcus wasn't sure what the Dragon meant. It was probably something hostile.

The Dragon landed on a wall, allowing Marcus to have a good look at him. Durnehviir was old, in many senses. His horns were fully grown, and his wings had the same tattered look that Paarthurnax's had. His scales were… flaking, almost. Crumbling in a sense. He certainly looked like the sort of dragon that would inhabit a realm of undead and ghosts.

Durnehviir raised his head and shouted across the courtyard.

"Dil, Qoth Zaam!"

Around Marcus, a dozen or so skeletal hands burst out of the ground, followed by bodies. They seemed to be the same skeletons that Marcus had fought around the Soul Cairn. He glanced back at Serana and Valerica, who were still hanging back.

"You two going to help, or what?" He called out, gesturing with his head towards the bonemen clambering out of the ground. Then, not waiting for a response, he ran across the ground towards the dragon that was coming into the courtyard.

Durnehviir hovered above the ground, staring down at Marcus. The creature breathed in, and shouted once more.

"Rii, Vaaz Zol!"

A purple blast of energy flew out of the Dragon's mouth towards the young man. Marcus wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't want to get hit by it. He dived and rolled to the side, coming back onto his feet in one motion. He then breathed in to return a shout of his own.

"Joor… Zah Frul!"

The green energy burst out from Marcus, and slammed into the unsuspecting Dragon. Durnehviir shuddered in the air, and slowly circled down to the ground, landing with a loud thump. Behind him, he heard Serana and Valerica begin to engage the dozen or so skeletons that had been risen.

Marcus raised out his left hand towards the Dragon, and unleashed a huge, non-stop gout of bright fire at the beast, slowly walking forward. Like a 20 metre tongue of flame, it lashed at Durnehviir's head and neck, causing him to roar in pain.

Not being able to fly quite yet, Durnehviir could do nothing but move towards Marcus himself, unleashing his own attack.

"Gaan, Lah Haas!"

A circle of purple energy rushed towards Marcus, who's line of sight was so obscured by his own torrent of flame that he couldn't see it in time to dodge. The energy smothered over his figure, and Marcus instantly felt the same draining sensation he'd experienced when fighting vampires, only it was accentuated with a searing magicka drain headache, and a terrible fatigue in his muscles.

Marcus' flame spluttered out, and he felt like falling down for a quick rest. But alas, he couldn't, because Durnehviir was now within biting distance.

The Dragon lunged for Marcus, tilting his head sideways in the familiar attempt to get his jaws across the young man's midsection and bite him in two. Marcus dropped to his knees, a fairly easy action to do given his exhausted state. Whatever that shout was, he needed to make sure he didn't get hit by it again.

Durnehviir's jaws clamped together just above Marcus' head. He dropped to his stomach and rolled out from under the dragon, before standing up and darting his sword out for the Dragon's left eye. The blade didn't hit the eye itself, but rather dug into the soft flesh underneath it, earning a pained roar from the Durnehviir.

The Dragon swung his large head and smacked Marcus across the courtyard. His sword went spinning away from his grasp. Marcus got up quickly, though, using telekinesis to return the blade to his hand. The effects of that shout had begun to wear off. He felt much better.

Durnehviir shifted his body around to face Marcus, and was about to use another shout when a pair of large ice spears slammed into this side of its neck. He turned and growled at Serana and Valerica, who'd killed the skeletons. He shouted another Drain Vitality thu'um at them, which forced the pair of vampires to dodge out of the way, and gave Durnehviir a chance to take to the skies again.

Another shout from the Dragon, and more skeletons clambered out of the ground. Marcus and the others alternated between fighting off the new undead and firing destruction spells at Durnehviir. The Dragon opted to remain at a distance, summoning bonemen and breathing blasts of purple draining energy at them. It continued for a while, until Marcus felt himself finally run out of magicka. Valerica and Serana looked fairly exhausted too. Durnehviir was significantly weakened, but not any less of a threat.

 _Time to finish this…_ Marcus thought to himself.

Durnehviir must've thought the same thing, as the dragon came in for a low swoop, his talons extended to snatch up Marcus and crush him. The young man deliberately ran out into the open, sheathing his sword and waited for the beast to get closer. Valerica shouted at him to move, but he ignored it. He was hunched over slightly, his muscles tensed.

As Durnehviir swooped down, Marcus dropped to his knees and dived forward. The talons just barely clipped his armour, but ultimately grasped nothing. He flipped over onto his back, drew his dagger, and flung it at the exposed underbelly of the Dragon above him in a single movement, right where the tendons connecting the wing to the torso were. A significant weak spot, Marcus knew, especially when the Dragon was flying.

The blade smacked into the soft flesh, severing a number of the joints at the Dragon's shoulder, and caused him to groan loudly in pain. Durnehviir couldn't maintain his flight, being unable to move his left wing properly. With a colossal crash, the beast slammed into the ground, rolling over a cluster of tombstones and coming to a halt near the entrance to the courtyard.

Marcus was on his feet in an instant, seeing a perfect opportunity. A tall tombstone had been bent at a 90 degree angle during Durnehviir's crash, and was pointed directly at the recovering mass of wings and scales, like a short ramp. A perfect opportunity to get a plunging attack on the Dragon's head, and end this.

He bolted for the stone ramp, grasping his sword in two hands. Durnehviir was just managing to get back up when Marcus' feet hit the stone.

Marcus leapt off the end of the tombstone, and flew through the air towards Durnehviir's raised body. The Dragon issued a roar as the young man landed on his head, and plunged his sword downward between the beast's eyes. With the combined force of his full body weight, momentum from the fall, and his own strength, the Dragonbone blade crunched through the scales and bone covering Durnehviir's skull, and sunk in deep. Black blood spurted out of the wound, splattering much of Marcus' armour.

Durnehviir shuddered, a low groan escaping his lips. Then his body went limp, falling to the ground in a heap. Marcus jumped off the head, then placed one foot against the Dragon's snout, and ripped his blade out of the skull.

The skin of the Dragon began to burn off, but Marcus wasn't filled with the sensation of absorbing a soul. Instead, the scales and bones burned with purple light, which slowly drifted into the sky, leaving nothing behind but a mass of churned earth.

"Huh..." Marcus mused. "Odd." That certainly hadn't ever happened before.

He turned to see Serana and Valerica standing a few metres away. They both stared at him, very surprised at the spectacle they'd just witnessed. Marcus felt a bit uncomfortable under their unwavering gaze.

"What?" he said. "I said to 'trust me'. Did you think I was jesting?"

His words seemed to break the spell. Valerica blinked a few times. "Forgive my… astonishment. I just never thought I'd witness the death of that Dragon."

Marcus collected his dagger, and sheathed both weapons. "Why not?"

"Volumes on him proclaim he can't be killed by normal means. I might be mistaken, or… it's possible your killing blow merely displaced his physical form, while he reconstitutes himself."

Marcus frowned. "What, so I might have to kill him again soon?"

"I don't know how long it might take," Valerica confessed. "But I don't suggest we wait to find out. Come, I'll take you to the scroll."

The three vampires walked to a small structure set off to the side of the courtyard. Valerica led, while Marcus and Serana walked behind her.

"I'm… impressed, you know." Serana said quietly to him as they walked.

"Of course I know," Marcus smiled. "Your mouth was hanging open like a dead fish."

She pouted at him. "It was not… I've just never actually seen a Dragon be killed before."

"Well, we all have a gimmick. Killing Dragons is mine. It is what it is."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow at his casual demeanor. "If I had to describe that to someone, I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you don't have to."

Serana rolled her eyes, as they entered into the small building. Sitting in a long chest on one wall, was the scroll.

"Here," Valerica unlocked the chest and handed it to Serana. "Now that you have it, you should be on your way."

Serana replied, "You can't come with us?"

"No… Harkon would sense my return to Tamriel, and in any event, I'm another daughter of Coldharbour. It would only heighten the chances of the sun being destroyed. As much as it pains me to let you two go back alone, we can't take the risk."

Serana nodded. "Ok, mother. We'll stop him. I promise." She turned and began to walk out of the hut, stopping to look back at Marcus. "You coming?"

"You go ahead, Serana." He nodded. "I just need to ask your mother a few more questions."

"Very well." She nodded. "I'll… uh… I'll wait by the exit."

Serana walked off, leaving Marcus and Valerica alone in the small stone hut. Valerica folded her arms. "What is it you wanted to ask?"

Marcus looked her up and down, and reached up to take off his helmet, his features slowly turned cold. He wanted to look Valerica face-to-face for this. "I'm not here to ask anything, specifically" he began in a firm voice. "I just want you to admit you are a pathetic excuse for a mother."

"What?!" exclaimed Valerica, taking a few step back as though physically wounded. "Where did that come from?"

"You forced your own daughter to be raped halfway to death, by a daedric Lord." Marcus deadpanned, taking a step closer to her, his gaze piercing her through. "She could've died, and you wouldn't have cared. It would've just been another corpse on the altar to you, wouldn't it?"

"It… was expected of us!"

"I don't give a shit." Marcus spat. "It's vile. I'm amazed Serana hasn't been driven insane from it. I've known people to do so from lesser traumas."

"You're exaggerating the event." Valerica returned, "I went through the same trial, and I'm fine."

Marcus tilted his head sideways. "Are you?"

Valerica found she couldn't meet his gaze.

Marcus continued. "I am… astonished, that a mother is capable of doing something to her only child. One day, I hope you will apologize for that, among the countless other things you seem to have done to her."

"I…" The words seemed to catch in her throat. "I know..."

"Do you?" Marcus asked. "It took until just today, for you to admit you'd even done something wrong by locking her away for thousands of years."

Valerica closed her eyes, and clutched her head. "I've been foolish, I know, it's just that-"

"There are no excuses," Marcus interjected. "And 'foolish' is an understatement. You were despicable. There's-"

Valerica's cool visage cracked. She opened her eyes and shouted at him "I know! What do you want from me?!"

Marcus looked at the frantic woman calmly. "When this is over, I want you to be better. When Harkon is dealt with, and you are able to leave this place, I want you to be a real mother to Serana. I want you to become that family she wants. The family she deserves."

Valerica nodded solemnly. "I… After what I've put Serana through, I would understand if she never wished to see me again. I leave that decision in your hands."

"I shouldn't be the one to make that decision. Potentially, I mightn't even be around to do so."

"I… I see."

"Just think on what I've said." Marcus turned to leave, and got a few steps before Valerica grabbed his arm.

She said, "Remember that Harkon isn't to be trusted. No matter what he promises, he'll deceive you to get what he wants."

"Understood."

"And…" Valerica looked fretful. "Promise me you'll keep my daughter safe. She's the only thing of value I have left."

Marcus looked at her for a while, his expression unreadable. "I'll do my utmost, but no promises."

Then he pried her hand off his arm, and walked away.

* * *

Marcus breathed in deeply, as he emerged from the portal. The dusty air of Castle Volkihar wasn't pleasant, but it was better than the death-filled air of the Soul Cairn. He couldn't wait to get outside, though. A zap was heard behind him, as Serana came through moments later.

They'd made a speedy exit out of the Soul Cairn, stopping only to talk to the newly reformed Durnehviir. The Dragon was remarkably docile and respectable, for something that had tried to kill Marcus moments before. He'd explained the nature of his soul, and why Marcus hadn't absorbed it. The tale was tragic almost, Marcus couldn't imagine how terrible it would be to be stuck in the Soul Cairn for eternity. He'd promised to let the old Dragon out as often as he could.

"Well… one scroll down." Serana said. Her voice was tired. They'd had a big day. It was probably closer to two, actually. Despite his strength, and the enchantments, Marcus felt tired wearing his heavy armour. He couldn't wait to take it off, and wear something a little lighter.

"Let's go," Marcus sighed. "I'm exhausted. I need a drink of… I want to say water."

Serana smiled tentatively at him. "It's… probably not water you want."

"Yeah, I know. Let's just… let's just get out of here."

"Lead the way."

They got out of the Castle without any difficulty, and got across to the jetty on Skyrim's coast without interruption. Marcus flopped out of the boat unceremoniously, and sat down at the water's edge.

"You look exhausted," Serana said, walking up and sitting down beside him. "There might have been some blood potions in the Castle, we could've -"

"I don't want to drink blood, Serana." Marcus said tiredly. "I don't mean to offend, but… I've consumed parts of a human before, and it's not something I want to do again."

Serana went to say something, but held her tongue. Eventually she said, "I understand…"

"I'm going to go fetch the other scroll, the one I used to defeat Alduin. Meet me at Riften, if you like."

"Can't I come with you?"

Marcus felt he couldn't meet Serana's gaze. "I… there's something I want to do on the way, and it's something I'd like to do alone."

She looked a bit hurt, but tried to hide it. "If that's what you want."

"It's nothing to do with you," Marcus rushed to reassure her. "I don't want you to think I dislike traveling with you, because nothing could be further from the truth."

"Really?" Serana asked. His disdain for drinking blood, and his desire to keep going off on personal trips here and there without her made her feel left out.

"Serana, believe me," Marcus said. "You're an amazing person. More than that, you're a beautiful person."

"What?" Serana jolted, her face growing warm, and her eyes growing wide.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Marcus said quickly. "That's not to say you're not beautiful in the physical sense… or what I mean… err..." Marcus looked a little panicked, his words tumbled out quickly. "I mean to say, that while it is objectively clear you are pretty, which hasn't mattered to me of course, I meant to use the word 'beautiful' in a context that denotes a different meaning to the typical one."

Marcus thought for a second, running through what he'd said in his mind and ensuring that was an appropriate explanation.

Serana looked at him, her cheeks returning to their normal colour. "And what exactly did you mean, originally?"

Marcus took a deep breath, and summed up his thoughts. "Seeing the state of your family, and hearing your thoughts… To see someone who's persevered through such trials, it shows just how exceptional that person's character is… how exceptional your character is. By 'beautiful', that's what I meant."

Serana was surprised. She didn't know what to say.

Marcus smiled almost apologetically at her, as if he was sorry he had to be so… sappy. "You've had to deal with a lot of very painful things, that no-one, least of all someone as innocent as you, should have had to experience. I'm sorry for you, but more than that, I want you to know I won't let anything like that happen again, as long as I'm around."

Serana blinked. The air seemed to get very warm, all of a sudden.

Marcus sighed, and stood up. "Anyway, that's what I meant. Sorry to get all soft all of a sudden, I didn't want you to get the wrong impression, is all. Take care of yourself on the trip to Riften. I'll see you in a day or so."

He began walking away. Serana still didn't know what to say. In the end, she just blurted out after him. "Don't take too long."

Marcus glanced back at her. She couldn't see his mouth, but the sparkle in his eyes meant she knew he'd smiled.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Bit of an edgier chapter at times, as well as a sappier chapter at others, but I felt it was realistic/needed. Gotta have some leaps forward for the drama to build up the relationship between Marcus and Serana.**

 **This upload was a bit late, I'm sorry. It's been a busy couple of weeks, moving to University, sorting out a job, etc. It's basically all been taken care of now, though.**

 **There's so many new people reading this story these days. I hope the huge word count doesn't intimidate too many of them. It's just how I write, I guess.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	44. Dawnguard: Chapter 6

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 6 – Some Hard Questions

Serana walked through the doors into the Bee and the Barb. She went up to the counter, where a female Argonian was cleaning a mug. The woman looked up half-interested at the pale girl standing there.

"Umm…" Serana began. "I'm meeting a friend here, a man named Marcus, have you seen him?"

"No," The Argonian shook her head. "And if it's the Marcus I think you're talking about, I'd definitely remember."

"Ok." Serana nodded in thanks, and went to sit down at a table. Marcus mustn't have finished up his 'personal' business yet, so she'd probably have to wait a while. A man in yellow robes sitting just to the left of the counter looked up as she passed.

He said, "Did I hear that right? You're waiting on Marcus?"

"Yes..." Serana said slowly, unsure of the man's intentions.

"Young guy, moody, kills anything that looks at him funny?"

"That's him."

The man smiled. "Well, in that case, I'd like to have a chat. It's been ages since I've seen him, longer since I've spoken to him." The man lead Serana over to a table in the corner, and sat down, pushing the seat toward her with his foot. "I'm Marcurio, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Serana smiled, sitting down. "How do you know Marcus?"

"I'm a merc," Marcurio said. "He hired me for a little assistance, and we sorta grew on each other like tumors."

She chuckled. She liked this man instantly. He had a trustworthy, casual demeanor. "Well, what did you want to know?"

Marcurio sat forward in his chair, studying Serana carefully, and speaking with a low voice. "Well… the last time I saw Marcus he was about to head off to join the Dawnguard, a bunch of vampire hunters. So, it'll be interesting to know why he's suddenly running around with a vampire."

Serana froze, her eyes darted to Marcurio's expression. Her hand twitched near the dagger on her belt. None of the other patrons were close enough to hear their conversation, thankfully.

"Relax," Marcurio said, smiling and leaning back. "If you're moral enough to know Marcus on a first-name basis, that's good enough for me. To be honest, I'm hardly surprised he's traveling with a vampire a few weeks after joining a faction dedicated to killing them. His life is rarely simple."

"Ok," Serana's posture relaxed. "Thanks, I guess."

"Think nothing of it," Marcurio shrugged. "So, what's your relationship with Marcus exactly? What're you doing with him?" The young man's eyes flashed with cheeky humor. "Wait… Don't tell me the gloomy bastard's gone and got hitched? Are you his plus one?"

"Oh no!" Serana blurted out, shaking her head quickly and blushing. "Of course not! He's just a friend, we're helping each other out, in a sense."

"Understood," Marcurio nodded, "Didn't mean to assume. What adventure has he roped you into?"

"Uh… the kind with Elder Scrolls and the fate of the world in the balance?" Serana wasn't sure if Marcurio would believe her.

He laughed. "Sounds like business as usual, then. Don't tell me any more, I probably won't want to know. Having to worry about the safety of Nirn once was enough for me."

"Ok." Serana smiled. "I'll keep quiet, then. Feel free to ask anything else."

They chatted for a while, friendly-like. Marcurio filled her in on some regional information, about the Dawnguard itself, amongst other things. Serana spoke about some of the places she'd been with Marcus. Marcurio was particularly interested in the Soul Cairn, but didn't request any details about why they were there in the first place.

Gradually however, the conversation was steered towards Marcus himself.

Serana asked, "What was the whole, 'saving the world from Alduin' thing like for Marcus?"

Marcurio shrugged. "I think he tried not to think about it too much, and I tried not to bring it up much either. He got panic attacks, back in the day. Understandably so. He's much better at dealing with the concept now, of course. Actually managing to save the world would do wonders for someone's self-esteem, I'd imagine. There's still topics you learn to avoid, but if you've been traveling with him you'd probably know that by now."

Serana remembered the nature of which Marcus avoided conversations about his family. Perhaps Marcurio knew enough about him to shed some light on the topic.

She asked. "You've been with Marcus a while, right? Do you know what happened to his family?"

Marcurio shook his head. "No. I asked once, but he clammed up like I'd just asked him to swallow his pet rabbit. I knew I wasn't getting an answer out of him, not about that subject."

"Any idea why he refuses to talk about it?"

"I can only guess something bad happened," Marcurio shrugged. "And I mean, **really** bad. My Dad fought in the Great War before he died of ataxia, and whenever I asked him about his service, he got this sort of… 'haunted' look in his eyes. Marcus had the same look when I asked him about his family, only about 10 times worse."

Serana nodded. She knew what Marcurio was talking about, she'd seen it in her mother's laboratory. That blank, shaken look. She wondered what could possibly have happened to elicit such a response.

"It sucks though," Marcurio leaned back in his chair, chewing his lip with a pensive expression. "For Marcus, I mean. Whatever happened before he came to Skyrim, it nearly shattered him. Then the world decided to fucking double down and give him the shit-show that is 'bring Dragonborn' on top of it. The people around here, and I'd imagine in most of Skyrim, would imagine his life to be a thrilling adventure, start to finish. I doubt anything could be further from the truth."

"Is his life really that bad? He seems casual about it, more often than not."

"He plays it off, or at least that's the impression I get from him." Marcurio shrugged. "Some of the shit he's had to face… cannibal cults, forsworn dens, fighting rings, veritable mountains of draugr and other monsters. It all takes its toll on the mind, and he's been dealing with it non-stop for years."

"He has people to help him though, surely" Serana insisted. "He told me he has plenty of friends. People that he can lean on. I'm sure he can come to you for support, for example."

Marcurio chewed his lip, and looked a bit nonchalant. "Well… I guess. Marcus and I have never been that close, which ironically meant he confided more in me, because he knew I wouldn't spend my days worrying about him like a frantic housewife. But that just means I know enough about his problems to know it isn't the sort of thing I can help with."

They sunk into a silence for a minute, each thinking about Marcus. Despite how gloomy Serana knew Marcus to be at times, he wasn't particularly as bad as Marcurio was making him out to be. She didn't know whether Marcurio was just exaggerating, since the guy clearly enjoyed a bit of rumor and gossip, or whether he was using an outdated reference of Marcus to draw his information from.

Which begged the question, what had changed in Marcus' life that had made him less miserable?

"Besides, Erik is a fine example of how that all turns out." Marcurio looked at her, "You know about Erik, right?"

"Yes. He told me."

Marcurio nodded, and continued. "So Marcus either does all this stuff on his own, growing more detached, or he takes friends with him on these trips to help him shoulder the mental burden and has to live with the guilt when one of them dies."

"So… damned if he does, damned if he doesn't?"

"Basically." Marcurio scratched his shoulder. "When I joined up with Marcus, I thought I'd be sharing the adventures of a hero. Turns out, I just got front-row seats to witness the messed up life of the Gods' sacrificial lamb."

He stood up. "Anyway, all this talking is making my mouth dry. I'm getting a drink, you want something?"

"Oh… uh," Serana rubbed her chin. "No, thanks, I'm fine."

"Suit yourself."

Marcurio walked over to the counter, and began speaking with the Keerava, the argonian. The doors to the inn opened, and in walked a group of 4 men. Marcurio recognized the one leading the way. Maul, one of Maven's lackeys.

The atmosphere in the inn changed instantly, and many patrons got up to leave. Maul and his thugs sat down at a table vacated by a small group of patrons, and began to drink whatever was left in the mugs that remained on the table.

Serana looked over at them, with a frown on her face. They looked to be very unpleasant people. Harsh faces mounted on thick necks, large meaty bodies.

One of them looked up, seeing her, the only other person seated in the inn. Instantly, Serana looked down, burying her gaze in her lap. A mistake, as it turned out. She heard the sound of chairs being pulled back, and feet across the wooden floor.

She cursed her luck under her breath, and looked up. One of the men, the black haired leader, was standing there, leaning against the wall and giving her a grin.

"Hello there, beautiful." He began in a drawl. His other three friends looked over interestedly. "My name's Maul. Couldn't help but notice you looking over in my direction..."

Serana regarded the man cooly. She didn't want to start a conflict. "I was merely gazing blankly around the room. Think nothing of it."

"Come now," Maul leaned on the table and ran his eyes up and down Serana's figure. "We both know why you did it. You're interested, admit it."

"Believe me," she replied coldly. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

The other three thugs stood up and walked over, curious. Maul laughed. "You're cold, aren't you? I can help you warm up, in that case." He reached forward to touch her hair.

Serana batted his hand away. The brute of a man didn't seem to be getting the message, or was simply ignoring it. She knew there was only one way this could end. She stood up angrily and pushed him backward. His thugs caught him before he fell over.

"Oho!" Maul cried. "She's got spirit! All the better."

He approached again, his friends on either side. "Come on sweetheart, don't play so hard to get."

"Lay a hand on me," Serana said in a low voice. "And I'll break it. Last warning."

"Come on," Maul chuckled. His friends grouped up behind him and leered at her with hungry looks. "You think you're a match for four men? Don't play coy, you couldn't even hit us."

Marcurio walked casually up behind them. "What about me? Can **I** hit you?"

The robed mercenary raised a bottle of mead in his right hand and smashed it over the head of one of the thugs. The man dropped to the ground instantly, bits of glass stuck in his scalp. The rest turned in surprise at their new assailant, leaving an opening for Serana to act.

She darted forward and picked up Maul by the collar. Easily, she hoisted him off the ground and threw him into the wall beside her. He smashed his head on a wooden support, and crumpled to the ground with a groan.

The remaining two thugs were stunned, their numerical superiority halved. One of them threw a sluggish roundhouse punch at Marcurio, who promptly ducked, punched him in the groin, then shoved the man onto the ground.

Serana darted forward and punched the remaining man in his solar plexus with enough force to knock him back a few paces, then lashed out with a kick to the head while he was doubled over. Marcurio finished off his with another light kick to the side of the head.

Maul groaned behind Serana. She turned to see him clutching his head, and halfway to getting back on his feet. She took two long strides forward, and drove her knee into his face. She felt his nose break, and he dropped like a stone. Then there was silence. Keerava poked her head tentatively up over her counter, hearing the noise die down.

Marcurio was about to say something to Serana, when the creak of the entrance door filled the air. They turned, to see Marcus standing there in the doorway with a blank look on his face.

No-one said a thing. Marcus looked at the four unconscious men on the ground, then back up at Marcurio and Serana. Then back down at the unconscious men. Then back up at his two friends.

He said, "Seriously, Marcurio. You spend any amount of time with my friends, and you go and corrupt them."

The silence broken, Marcurio smiled. "You're just jealous you missed out on a fight."

Marcus rolled his eyes, and walked into the building. He glanced down at Maul's bloody face. "I have to admit though, Maul has always had a very punchable face."

Serana said sheepishly. "I can confirm that."

Marcus looked up at her and smiled in humor. Serana's eyes widened slightly. His face was flushed… colourful. His eyes were warm, and back to their hazel glow. He was human, again.

"You…" Serana blinked. "You've changed."

"I have," Marcus nodded. "I felt it was… appropriate."

"What're you talking about?" Marcurio asked, glancing between the two.

"My armour," Marcus explained casually, not missing a beat. "I was in my Dragonbone stuff last she saw me. I've swapped out for the lighter stuff."

"Oh, I see." Marcurio nodded. "Can't go wrong with robes, I always say."

Marcus sighed exasperated. "It's not just robes, it's a cloth blend of leather and dragonscale layered over ebony ma-"

"Yeah, I don't care," Marcurio waved a hand in front of his face. "Come and sit down, I wanna hear some exploits, not blacksmith trivia. Hey Keerava! I need another bottle of mead!"

* * *

They were saying their goodbyes at the Riften stables. Marcus shook Marcurio's hand, giving him a warm smile.

"See you soon, try to stay out of trouble." Marcus said.

Marcurio chuckled. "Yeah, you just worry about yourself, young man."

Marcus rolled his eyes, then went over to grab a few traveling supplies from Shadr. Serana shook Marcurio's hand, and he whispered a few words to her in a low voice.

"I don't know what you've done, but thank you." Marcurio said.

"What?" Serana whispered back.

"Marcus. He's much better. Less… like an automaton than he was. He actually smiled on several occasions today." Marcurio looked relieved. Relieved that his friend was okay once again. "The only new addition in his life to explain that is you, so… thanks, Serana."

Serana pulled back, and relinquished the hand. "Well… I don't think I'm responsible for that much, but you're welcome, I guess."

"Take care." Marcurio nodded to her, then walked back inside the city.

Marcus walked over. "You ready to go?"

Serana gestured down to her clothes. "I'm all packed."

"Indeed you are. Let's get to Fort Dawnguard. I'm curious to see what's so special about the third scroll."

"As am I."

They headed out, walking through the trees along the small road that led to the Fort's valley. It was a nice day, in all. The sky was clear, there were plenty of small animals running about, and the bright sun illuminated the trees wonderfully. Serana enjoyed the scenery, but couldn't shake a feeling of disappointment. She knew why.

"Marcus," Serana began hesitantly. "I… why did you cure yourself of vampirism?"

Marcus looked sideways at her. "You sound upset that I have."

"No, it's just..." She struggled to find the words. "I thought we were similar. I thought we'd both be vampires, and that'd help us support each other? I don't know…" It sounded silly when she said it out loud. A childish wish, of course. Marcus shouldn't have to be a vampire just so it made her feel less like an 'odd one out'.

Marcus didn't seem offended though. He shrugged. "I hardly think being a vampire would change how well we get along. You were the one that proved to me that being a vampire doesn't affect your personality."

Serana nodded. "Of course, you're right. Sorry."

"Don't mention it. To answer your question though, I became human again for… personal reasons. I've already got one supernatural set of abilities running through my blood. There is such a thing as too much power."

"I guess… but you could've been immortal. An eternity to live whatever life you want."

"There's only one kind of life I can live, and it isn't the kind I want to last forever."

Serana frowned. "Surely you can hang up the sword and dagger one day. Maybe not while the world is in jeopardy, of course, but one day."

Marcus shrugged. "I left the normal world behind me a long, long time ago. I protect the world, and that's that. I'd be foolish to think my life could consist of anything more before death finally catches up with me."

"… Well, you're awfully grim. I would've thought becoming human again would've made you cheerier."

Marcus chuckled, stopping to lean against a tree while he adjusted a strap on his armour. "Death and I are on good terms. We understand each other, I guess. I've cheated it again and again. It's going to catch up with me sooner or later, like it does for everyone, and I've learned to accept that."  
"Have you?" Serana peered closely at his face, reading him. He found he couldn't look her in the eyes.

Marcus cleared his throat, before standing upright and nodding in affirmation of his own words. "The only thing I should be concerned about is what I leave behind. I want that to be a few good memories and a healing world."

"You don't want anything more? A cottage under the sunset? A long content life?"

Marcus hesitated, then shook his head. "I lost that the second I was born with a rearing, burning Dragon soul."

"Don't speak about happiness like it's am… accessory to life."

"I've lived my life perfectly fine for the last 10 odd years without happiness. I'd trade all this metaphorical happiness I should be getting for a good healing potion anytime."

"Surely being Dragonborn doesn't mean you have to throw your life away?"

Marcus sighed. "You know what the Dragons called me? What Tsun, the right hand of Shor called me? 'Doom Driven'. I'm a symbol of destruction, Serana. A walking inferno. Don't get too close, or you'll be burned up too."

Serana looked at him, hands on her hips, exasperated. "I'll get as close as I like, Marcus."

He raised an eyebrow at her. She had a stubborn look on her face, like she was daring him to challenge her. Marcus couldn't help but smile, and rolled his eyes.

* * *

Marcus leaned over the infirmary bed in fort Dawnguard, looking down at Dexion. He looked feverish, for lack of a better word. His skin was pale and sweaty. His mouth was partly open, and occasionally you could hear a few words muttered in a delirious manner. His eyes were shut tight.

"Have you tried healing potions?" Marcus asked Isran, not taking his eyes off Dexion.

Isran nodded. "Potions, magic, even poultices. Nothing worked. His health started deteriorating ever since you left."

Serana spoke up. "Perhaps it was the scroll?"

"Quiet, vampire." Isran said.

"She's right," Marcus said, going to Serana's aid. "Reading an Elder Scroll is bound to have side effects."

"Oh yeah?" Isran snorted. "How come nothing bad happened when you read your scroll then?"

"I don't know. Maybe the prophecy had something to do with it. Perhaps fate linked my soul and the scroll together, and that protected me."

Isran looked unconvinced.

Marcus continued. "Or maybe it's because my soul is literally a piece of Akatosh. It could be any number of reasons."

Isran grumbled a bit, then left the room. Marcus checked around him briefly, then released a charged up blast of restoration magic into Dexion. It would've normally been enough to replace an organ, but it did nothing. The old man hardly stirred.

 _Strange,_ Marcus thought. _It's got to be the Elder Scroll._

"Any ideas on what we should do while we wait for his condition to improve?" Serana asked.

Marcus shrugged. "We could go speak to Gunmar, or Sorine. They might have something for us to do."

Serana huffed. "Yeah, I bet Sorine will have a few things in mind for you..."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing… nothing."

* * *

Marcus wasn't one to shy from a rescue mission, so when Sorine had spoken of a priest named Florentius being captured by vampires, and that they could really use his alchemical and magical expertise, Marcus jumped at the opportunity.

When he finally got to converse with the man, he realized that Florentius Baenius was an odd person. Coming from Marcus, who had literally spoken to a God of Madness, that was saying something. He looked like a regular priest of Arkay on the outside, and didn't really say much, but what he did say was worth listening to.

Florentius allegedly could speak to Arkay. Marcus thought it was just deranged ramblings, until the priest named a few dead people that the young man had known, who Marcus himself had nearly gotten about. It was at that point Marcus told the priest to keep his otherworldly information to himself, lest he reveal something inappropriate. Serana was quiet for most of the trip they'd made to retrieve the man. She spoke up in combat, or when Marcus needed help with something, but other than that she remained hidden in her thoughts.

Marcus was a little worried, thinking something was wrong. He told himself she'd tell him if it was a problem, but he still couldn't suppress the feeling too much.

"Arkay has told me much about you, Marcus Lavernius."

Marcus frowned. He didn't often hear his last name, and he was certain no-one in the Dawnguard knew of it.

Florentius continued. "The divines speak highly of you. That's not something that happens often."

"Of course it doesn't. The Gods wouldn't want to admit that a mortal is better at doing their job than they are."

Florentius looked somewhat stunned. He didn't say anything though. Something in Marcus' tone of voice told him that wasn't a subject the young man was open to other opinions on.

Fort Dawnguard hadn't changed in the 5 days they'd been gone, so no more vampire attacks had occurred. It was a relief, for Marcus. It'd be too much to expect good news, so he settled for the absence of bad news instead.

When they entered the Fort, they saw Isran in the far corner, talking to a seemingly fully able Dexion. Marcus relief was dashed however, when he saw the large piece of cloth wrapped over the old man's eyes. Behind them, Florentius muttered something about meeting up with Sorine and Gunmar, before walking off further inside the building.

Isran and Dexion's conversation ceased when Marcus and Serana got close. Isran cleared his throat.

Dexion turned, "Is that you, Marcus?"

"It is," he nodded. "What happened to you?"

Dexion smiled sadly. "It's my fault. In my haste to read the first scroll, I neglected the careful preparation required. Now, I'm paying for that error."

Serana's breath hitched in her throat. "Are you..."

"Blind?" Dexion nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid so."

Marcus asked. "Can anything be done to help you?"

"No, it'll have to run its course, and there's always the chance I may never recovered."

Marcus looked downcast. "Then… there's no way to read the scrolls..."

Dexion shook his head. "No, there's another way. The question is, how much are you willing to risk to find Auriel's Bow?"

Marcus thought for half a second. "To save the world? Anything and everything. Tell me what I need to do."

Dexion said hesitantly, "I can't guarantee you'd be free from harm. Becoming blind could be the least of your worries."

Serana looked at Marcus anxiously. The young man's face remained stoic. "Don't worry about that," he told Dexion. "Just tell me."

Dexion began, detailing the existence of the 'Ancestor Glades', a secluded type of natural area of magical importance. The descriptions he gave reminded Marcus of the Eldergleam Sanctuary. The one they were looking for was in the Pine Forest, where Marcus would have to perform a ritual involving the ancestor moths that dwelt there.

The ritual sounded simple enough, if strange. Use tree bark to attract moths, and the moths would held him read the scrolls. Marcus would have to read all three of them, one after the other, starting with the scroll foreshadowing the defiance of the Gods.

Serana walked forward and interrupted the old man. "Hang on, Marcus has to read all three scrolls? Are you insane? That could kill him! Look what one scroll did to you!"

Dexion raised his hand to placate the sudden outburst. "My dear, I am well aware of the dangers, but young Marcus here said he is accepting of the risks."

Marcus nodded, turning to Serana. "There's not a whole lot we can do. This seems to be the best bet, so we need to take the leap of faith, as it were."

Serana frowned. "Then let me do it."

Marcus shook his head. "No. I've had more experience with the scrolls. With this sort of thing, any mental preparation is probably important."

Dexion nodded in affirmation with Marcus' words. Serana still looked worried.

"Look, it's not perfect," Marcus said. "Believe me, I don't like this any more than you do, but we don't have a choice."

Serana thought for a moment, then sighed. "You're right… I just… nevermind."

Marcus turned back to Dexion. "How do these moths help me read the scroll?"

Dexion chewed his lip, trawling through decades of knowledge to try and explain it. "The moths make a… song. A soft, harmonious trilling. It's through this chorus that they tap into a form of primal augur and become a conduit of deciphering the scrolls. Priests utilize the conduit with the moths so close, and share the 'augury'. Only the most resilient of priests can do it this way… it takes years of practice to interpret the harmony."

"If it takes years, how do I even stand a chance?"

Dexion shrugged apologetically. It was he could do. "You've come this far, and you've found several Elder Scrolls. Whether you believe it or not, the scrolls have a mind of their own. If they didn't want you to find them, they wouldn't allow it. Because of this, I strongly believe you were meant to hear the ancestral chorus."

Marcus sighed, and nodded slowly. "Well… Only one way to find out, I guess."

He assembled all the scrolls and stuck them on his back, casting a minor illusion spell to reduce their profile and not attract attention. Marcus didn't know the last time three Elder Scrolls had been in such proximity, but it probably wasn't a good sign. The original 'end of the world' thing had only needed one scroll. With three… Marcus had a bad premonition that this time when things came to a head, it would be a lot harder.

"I'm coming with you," Serana stated, almost daring anyone to disagree.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Marcus replied, smiling.

"Take care," Dexion said. "And good luck. I hope you find the answers you seek."

Then they were leaving the fort again, only a short while after entering it. Marcus made a mental note to stop at an inn along the way, and sleep in an actual bed. He spent so many nights on the road these days, it was almost a rare occurrence when he got to sleep on something other than the ground. He didn't know how Serana was faring. She hadn't said anything, but just because she didn't complain didn't mean she wasn't suffering.

"Sorry we're on the road so much," Marcus said.

"It's not your fault," Serana shrugged. "We can hardly just put up our feet for a week, can we? World in peril, and all that."

"Yeah..." Marcus sighed. "The world just doesn't seem to stay safe. You'd think it'd quieten down for an era or two after recent history. You missed most of it, but in pretty much every Era since the first, there's been a huge cataclysmic event that nearly ended life as we know it. The more things change, the more they stay the same, you know?"

"Hey, chin up," Serana smiled. "This'll end, one day, and when it does we can all relax."

Marcus looked sideways at her as they walked, and her smile… warmed him. Looking into her bright eyes, he found it easier to believe that everything would be alright, one day. She looked back at him, and smiled again. Marcus tore his gaze away, and stared hard at the ground passing underneath his feet, wondering why his cheeks burned.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: A very late chapter, I know, and smaller than the norm, but I have an excuse. My laptop charger was left at my new house and wasn't able to get it until a week later.**

 **I'm going to do something that Marcus would no doubt chastise me for, but I'm going to promise you all that this won't happen again. Next chapter is going to be a big one. As will the one after that. Hopefully that'll make up for the wait.**

 **I'll be ramping up the romance/bonding in coming chapters. This is getting late-stage anyway. I'll make sure to build the tension up to HUGE levels just before the final battle, then I'll get Marcus killed and laugh as I read your reactions.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	45. Dawnguard: Chapter 7

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 7 – A Moth's Eye View

Marcus and Serana ended up spending the night in Whiterun. It wasn't his first choice, but the ache in his legs couldn't be ignored, and Serana had made it clear she wanted to stop somewhere. While Marcus disliked being in Whiterun for a number of reasons, he didn't feel as if he should deny Serana a chance to rest for reasons exclusive to himself.

Plus, he hadn't visited Jorrvaskr for months. Marcus wasn't even sure if he was still technically their Harbinger. He'd neglected so many of his duties, bouncing around Skyrim trying to douse a dozen fires. The building had plenty of spare beds, as well, so Serana would be fine.

Stepping through the entrance, Marcus got a warmer reception than he anticipated. Vilkas and his brother came up to him and each wrapped him in a crushing hug, with smiles on their faces. It was as if he hadn't been ignoring his duties for months, and hadn't caused a respected member of the Companions to leave out of grief.

Serana got a less friendly welcome, however. Aela, being the only werewolf still present, immediately smelled through Serana's guise. She was on her feet in an instant, storming up to Serana and reaching for her dagger. Everyone's attention was focused on Marcus, so they hardly noticed. Marcus had to push aside Farkas and quickly step in front of Serana, who was already hunched over in a combat stance, red magic beginning to swirl between her fingertips. He knew he'd have a nightmare in store for him if those two came to blows.

Marcus stepped in front of Aela and grabbed her hand firmly, before wrenching the dagger away from her in a quick, subtle fashion.

"Marcus!" Aela hissed. "What are you doing? She's a -"

"I know," Marcus replied, his voice calm. "She's friendly."

"Why are you -"

Marcus gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. "Long story. Act normal."

Then he relinquished his grip on her hand, and walked back to talk to Farkas as if nothing had happened, sliding the dagger up one of his sleeves easily. Aela looked at him with a confused look, then glanced at Serana with a very wary, cautious glare. Serana stared back defiantly.

"Don't get any ideas, nightspawn" Aela spat in a low voice.

"From a werewolf?" Serana replied harshly. "I wouldn't know where to look."

Aela glared at the pale girl, fists clenching, but Marcus' words had more of an effect than Serana's, so her anger was bridled.

The group dispersed back to the table, where the evening meal had been about to get started. Marcus took his usual seat, which was at a corner, off to the side and obscured from as many other people at the table as possible. It was the only seat he'd ever sat in, and old habits died hard.

Serana snuck a seat next to him, and sat down quietly. She wasn't sure of the customs for a place like this, but she needn't have worried. Everyone minded themselves, and Serana just quietly ate a little and sipped at a tankard of wine.

Marcus spent a lot of the evening talking to Vilkas, next to him. Across the table, Aela frequently glared at Serana. After a while, two people, a dark elf and a nord woman, started arguing about a certain account of a bounty from ages ago, and it began getting heated.

Serana glanced at Marcus, to see if he was planning on doing anything about the argument, but he didn't seem to care. Eventually, the two began shouting at each other, and Farkas told the two to settle it outside.

They both agreed, and stormed outside. Most of the Companions followed, laughing and making unofficial bets on who'd win this time.

"Uh..." Serana looked at Marcus. "Are you going to stop that?"

Marcus shrugged. "I tried once. It only ended up in them both ganging up on me. For their sakes, I'd rather not intervene again. They don't mean anything by it, it just tends to happen when they get bored."

Serana looked up. Pretty much everyone had gone outside to watch. "Are you going to go have a look, in that case?"

Marcus sighed, and stood up. "No. I've seen Athis and Njada beat the crap out of each other more than enough times. I'm going to go to Breezehome, and get an early rest. Vilkas here can show you to a room, if you like."

Marcus stood up and began walking to the door. Aela tore her gaze off Serana for once to run up and intercept him before he exited the building. Serana couldn't hear their conversation over the crackle of the fire, but Aela looked downcast as Marcus said his final few words and left the building.

With him gone, Serana felt out of place, and instead asked Vilkas to show her to the room Marcus described. The man agreed, guiding her to what he explained used to be Marcus' room, before he became the Harbinger. Once Serana was sorted, Vilkas went back upstairs.

The room was neat, and clean. There was only one bed, and a few trinkets of varying nature on the shelves. It looked like the kind of room Marcus would have. Plain, practical, with a quiet personality.

She collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep in seconds.

* * *

Marcus met Serana down at the stables in the morning. Lydia followed him, peppering him with questions. She'd been happy to see him, but was adamant in knowing why on Nirn he had **three** Elder Scrolls with him. Marcus tried to give her as much of the story as possible, without getting her worried. With his housecarls, a conversation was almost a minefield when it came to his personal safety.

"You're sure this won't be too dangerous?" Lydia asked him for the millionth as they walked down to the stable. She still needed a bit of convincing, evidently.

"I told you," Marcus shrugged. "It's artifact retrieval. I'm basically just looking through some busted up ruin for a weapon. If there was anything dangerous there, they'd already be using the artifact to screw things up, and we'd know about it already."

"Hmmm..." Lydia huffed. "And who's this 'Serana' your traveling with?"

"She's a friend. Her family is… involved with the artifact in question. She wanted to come along."

They walked up to the stables, where Serana stood leaning against a post. Lydia looked like she wanted to have a word or two with her, so Marcus mumbled something about sorting out a carriage for the trip to Falkreath to go a bit faster, and walked off.

Lydia walked up to Serana. The vampire girl matched the housecarl's gaze evenly.

Lydia trawled through a number of questions in her mind, then decided on the one she thought most important. "What do you think of Marcus?"

Serana blinked. "What?"

"Marcus. What do you think of him?"

Serana raised an eyebrow. Marcus seemed to have a lot of attached servants. "He's… unusual, but in a good way."

"You don't harbor any misgivings to him? Any concerns about him?"

Serana shook her head. "We're just traveling together."

Lydia studied Serana carefully. The pale woman seemed to not quite believe her words. "Is that it?"

"Why do you care?" Serana asked, getting defensive. "Isn't your job just to protect him? He's perfectly healthy, as you can see."

Lydia became troubled. "That's… debatable. Without his shirt on, it becomes apparent how badly we housecarls do our job." Lydia added, "Not that I expect you to have seen that, of course."

Serana frowned, deciphering the woman's words. "Wait… you've seen Marcus without a shirt?"

Lydia blushed. "It's… nevermind. You seem all right. Take care of him, I guess."

"He's the Dragonborn. I doubt he needs my help."

"That's…. also debatable."

Lydia walked off, and Serana clambered onto the carriage beside Marcus. They headed off toward Falkreath under a grey sky. The lack of clear sun was a pleasant change for the vampire, but it didn't last. Before long, it started raining. It started as a light drizzle, but escalated into a moderate shower.

"Want me to clear it?" Marcus asked. "It'll make the sun come out again, though."

She blinked. That was surprisingly thoughtful. "Um… no. As much as I hate being wet, the sun is slightly worse."

"Fair enough," Marcus shrugged. "It might spook the horses, too."

The cool air made Serana feel cold, her wet clothes clinging to her skin and making her feel more so. She unconsciously shifted closer to Marcus, pressed up against his side, feeling the warmth radiating through his clothes. If he noticed, he didn't make any objection to it. Serana wondered if he was always this warm, with his Dragon blood.

"How are we going to know where the glade is?" Serana asked conversationally, looking up at the mountain range they were approaching. "Those eastern mountains aren't small."

"I have a friend who lives up there," Marcus explained. "She'll be able to help us, I hope."

"What's her name?"

"Angi. She's a reclusive hunter, of sorts."

"What's her story? Why's she out in the middle of nowhere?"

"She's an outlaw, but the good kind."

Serana frowned. "The good kind?"

Marcus explained. "The kind that I don't think actually did anything wrong."

"Oh, ok."

They mostly travelled in silence for another few hours, getting off the carriage at Falkreath and continuing to the mountains, speaking only to comment on some location or to swap questions. When they came to Angi's cabin, the woman came out to greet them. Angi herself had a young face, made about 10 years older by the harsh weather of the mountain climate she lived in. She gave the pair detailed directions though, pointing out the locations of several caves on Marcus' map, and which ones they could cross off as not containing a 'glade'.

Of the three locations Angi hadn't seen inside, only one of them was a location Marcus himself hadn't visited, which meant they had their target.

The entrance to the Ancestor Glade was like any other cave, and the area immediately inside, while containing a more plants than normal, didn't look too special.

"Hmph..." Serana huffed. "Not very impressive is it? If this ends up being a wasted trip, your friend Dexion and I are going to have some words when we get back."

Marcus said, "I'm sure it'll be fine."

They headed further in, eventually emerging from the dark tunnel into a brightly lit spectacle of natural splendor. In a similar, yet more spectacular fashion to Eldergleam Sanctuary, there was a large crack in the cavern roof through which natural light flooded in. It didn't seem to be raining or snowing up there, allowing the cavern to be bathed in a white and gold glow. Trees and plants of various types filled the area, decorating a small path that led down into the glade.

"See?" Marcus smiled. "I told you not to worry."

Serana nodded. "I should've trusted Dexion… Look at this place. No-one's been here in centuries. I doubt there's any other place like it in Skyrim. It's beautiful."

"I've seen similar places," Marcus agreed. "But never anything quite like this. Have you?"

"No, not from now or… before. There's probably groves like this all over Tamriel. Most people just don't even know what to look for."

Marcus hummed in agreement, and walked down the path to the centre of the glade. There was a dias, or sort of raised natural stone platform with a column of light centered on it. There was a pretty tree beside it, and a stone sculpture with a strange knife in it.

"That looks like what we need." Marcus said, pointing.

"Yep."

Marcus reached out to the stone sculpture and pulled out the knife.

Serana said, "We got the knife, and I'm guessing this tree here is the one we want."

He nodded, "I guess so."

"I hope the moths like that bark as much as Dexion said they would."

"He hasn't been wrong so far."

Marcus took the knife and scraped a bit of bark from the tree. He fixed it underneath one of the leather straps on his armour, and began looking around for moths. The bugs flew around in small clusters, and they were pretty numerous in the glade if you had a decent look around.

As soon as Marcus walked up to one group, they instantly rushed over and began orbiting him in an almost excited fashion. He frowned at the little things floating around his face, he could see this getting annoying. Serana was looking at him with a very amused expression.

"Damn moths," Marcus waved a hand to brush one off his hair. "Why are they doing that?"

Serana giggled, a surprisingly pleasant noise Marcus had yet to hear from her before. His heart quickened a pace, confusingly. "They've definitely taken a liking to you. I guess we should've seen this coming… moth priests, and moths." She rolled her eyes, smiling. "They're apparently related in some way. Who would've thought? Couldn't hurt to gather more, I suppose."

Marcus looked at himself, "Easy for you to say. How many more do you think I'll need?"

"Well, unless my visions playing tricks, there seems to be a slightly magical effect around you. It seems like we're on the right track, but otherwise I don't have the faintest idea."

The pair walked around until Marcus had a small swarm of moths orbiting him. As one last clump connected to him, the glimmer surrounding him brightened up considerably, shining outwards. He looked rather majestic, almost. They walked back to the dias, where the glow around Marcus could be easily compared to the light streaming in from above. Marcus took out the scrolls, and placed them standing up beside him in a row.

He breathed out in a resigned, yet content sigh. "Well, time to do some light reading."

"Hey," Serana stepped forward and lightly touched his arm. "Be careful, ok?"

"I'll be fine," he said, giving her a reassuring smile and reaching down for the first scroll. Then he shrugged and added, "Probably."

He opened the scroll and stared at the large glyph on the parchment. It glowed and seared the image of the rune onto his vision. It swirled with bright blue colours. He slowly put down the first scroll, and picked up the second. His gaze seemed a thousand miles away.

Marcus opened the second scroll, and another rune seared itself onto his vision, meshing and interlinking inside the first. This time, his hands dropped the scroll, and fumbled blindly for the third. He was disconnected from the world, his mind in another place altogether.

Serana said something, but Marcus' vision of her was obscured, and he couldn't hear her anyway. He opened the last scroll, and his entire sight went white, and he lost feeling in his body. All he could sense was a floating sensation.

Then, out of the whiteness, a mass with dark contours and shapes appeared. It gained more definition, revealing itself as a map. Marcus recognized the area as a segment of the upper Reach. A strange marking was etched at one point, above a snaking river. It pulsated, and Marcus instantly knew what the scrolls were telling him. The Bow was there.

A name drifted through his mind. _Darkfall Cave._

Then the vision melted away, and Marcus was returned to the world. He was lying on the floor of the dias, his head in Serana's lap. As he blinked a few times, Serana let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank goodness," she breathed. "I'd thought I lost you there… you went as white as the snow."

Marcus sat up, rubbing his eyes. "That was… odd. Don't worry though, I'm fine."

Serana stood up and helped Marcus onto his feet. Then she crossed her arms and shook her head. "I never trusted those damn scrolls. Who knows what they could've done to you… just look at Dexion."

"Well, it worked." Marcus said. "I know where we need to go. Darkfall Crossing, a cave to the Northeast of Markarth."

Serana nodded "Ok… good. Then it's almost over. We can finally rewrite the prophecy as we see fit. Let's get going. I want to get there before my father has a chance to track -"

Serana paused abruptly. A frown furrowed her brow.

"What is it?" Marcus asked.

Serana didn't say anything, her ears straining to hear the source of what she's heard. Her senses were better than Marcus' now that he was human again.

"I thought I heard… **Down**!"

She grabbed Marcus and shoved him to the floor.

A pair of ice spikes went sailing through the space they'd just occupied, and shattered on the far wall. Marcus glanced around, pushed at the ground with his arms and leapt from a prone position onto his feet, drawing his weapons. Running down the path toward them, was a small group of vampires.

The vampires readied destruction spells in their hands, and aimed for the two.

Marcus took a deep breath just as they were about to fire. "Wuld… Nah Kest!"

He shot forward across the gap and smashed into one of the first vampires, knocking the undead onto the ground. Before the others could react, Marcus darted forward and impaled a female vampire through the chest with both blades.

The remaining three vampires on their feet fired their destruction spells at Serana, who roll-dodged to the side with inhuman speed, taking cover behind the canticle tree. Marcus threw his dagger at the vampire on the floor, then fought defensively against the three remaining vampires who'd all drawn their weapons, parrying and dodging equally.

A chain lightning bolt from Serana disintegrated two of them, allowing Marcus to focus on the last. He ducked under an axe swing, then gripped his sword in two hand, arcing his blade upwards and slicing off the offending arm. The vampire barely had time to scream before Marcus spun around and severed his head.

With all the hostiles dead, Marcus breathed out his usual post-combat sigh of relief, then felt a sudden wave of nausa.

He staggered to the side, leaning on a stone, and clutched his head with his left hand. Serana ran up to him.

"Are you ok?" She asked quickly. "Are you hit?"

Marcus waved a hand dismissively. "No, I'm fine. Or I should be. I think leaping into a fight that soon after channeling the energy of three Elder Scrolls wasn't a great idea."

Serana looked concerned. She placed a hand on the side of Marcus' face and gently made him face her, staring into his eyes and checking him visually for any signs of ill-health or delirium. Her hand felt cool on his cheek, yet Marcus felt his face grow warm. Odd.

Marcus averted his gaze to the side, staring down at the bodies. "Are these your father's lackeys?"

Serana rolled over one of the more intact corpses. "Yeah. I think I recognize this one."

"Does it bother you that we're working against your father?"

Serana shrugged. "I can't say it surprises me, I kind of figured we were heading for this some day. I just didn't know when."

Marcus bit his lip, thinking. He asked hesitantly, "Will it be hard for you if we have to kill him?"

"If?" Serana looked surprised. "I've been assuming that's where this is all going. I've… been trying to make my peace with it."

Marcus looked at his feet. "I… Let me know if you need, or want, to talk. Family is… a difficult thing to lose."

She gave him an encouraging smile. "Come on. We can speak about this another time."

They stepped over the bodies and made their way out of the Glade, sticking close and watching for anymore lurking enemies. There were no more, however, and they made it out into the open safely, eager to reach the next part of their journey.

* * *

 _Blood. His skin was sweating blood, everywhere. His hands dripped with dark crimson. It splashed onto the ground and turned it muddy. His feet became stuck, and he slowly sunk down. The coppery liquid choked him as he sunk in above his head, flooding down his airways and filling his chest with the sensation of drowning._

Marcus awoke with a loud gasp, reaching for his dagger and getting it halfway drawn when he saw the face of Serana staring down at him, etched with concern and illuminated by the moonlight. She'd been shaking him awake. He relaxed, and dropped the weapon.

"Sorry," Serana said, "You were having a nightmare. Lots of frantic mumbling. I figured it best to intervene…"

"Of course," Marcus breathed out. "Thanks. Sorry if I scared you, or woke you up with my ramblings."

"Don't worry about it. I couldn't sleep anyway. Too busy thinking."

He nodded in understanding, and sat up. "What topic of thought was serious enough to keep you awake? Want to talk about it?"

Serana poked the fire, pushing a few sticks into it and building it up again. "I guess… I was thinking about what would happen when this is all over."

"Assuming we don't die, of course?" Marcus added.

Serana shot him a look. "Don't be so morbid. If you could defeat Alduin, you could defeat my father."

Marcus shrugged. "You know, I'm not so sure. The battle I had with Alduin was… different. There was so much destiny and fate hanging in the air you almost could've cut it with a knife. When I fight a Dragon, I'm not entirely in control of my own actions. An instinctual sense takes over. With Alduin, that instinct was pushed up to 11. I doubt I'll get the same situation if I had to face your father."

Serana crossed her arms. "Alright, what do you think will happen when this is all over **if** we survive?"

Marcus shrugged. "I dunno. I'll probably go back to wandering Skyrim, killing things and trying to make people happy. I dunno what you'd want to do."

"No peacetime for the Dragonborn, huh?" Serana rolled her eyes. "Is that all you do when you're not saving the world? Kill things?"

Marcus sighed, placing his hands in his lap. "It sounds sad when you say it out loud, I know. But it's all I know how to do, at this point. Which is why..." Marcus trailed off.

"Which is why what?" Serana pressed.

Marcus said nothing.

"Come on, what were you going to say?"

He didn't answer straight away. He knew he shouldn't say anything, that it'd be stupid to talk about. That it was none of her business anyway. Marcus stood up and walked a little way away, looking out into the darkness. But another piece of his mind told him that Serana should know. The piece wanted to tell her, in the faint hope she might be able to make sense of it. He hoped she wouldn't look poorly at him once he told her.

"I'm a fighter. It's all I can do. Whatever part of me that could co-exist with the normal world died a long time ago. I've known that for ages, but the reality of it only sinks in once there's little else to fight. Before I joined the Dawnguard, I wasn't actually making an impact. There weren't any threats left that the rest of the world couldn't deal with without me. I… I was almost glad when I found out the vampires were a serious danger, because it meant I had a purpose again."

Serana's face fell. She stood up and walked over behind him, eyes fixed on his slumped back. "You were glad when you learned of a threat to destroy the world?"

Marcus looked at the sky. "I'm a tool, Serana. A weapon. A human version of Auriel's bow. An object of the gods that serves no purpose other than to get wrapped up in prophecy and play a part in the fate of the world. Once that's all said and done, what purpose do I have? You only take out a mop when there's a mess to clean up. Take away the problem, and the solution is no longer needed... I'm no longer needed."

Serana's face switched between confusion, and desperation. Deciding on a course of action, her features turned bold. She stepped forward and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to turn around and look at her. "Look at me, Marcus. I know you're not an idiot, so please don't act like one. You will always be needed. **Always.** But not to fight battles, or kill the demons of the world. Your friends need you. Your family in every guild needs you… I need you."

Marcus looked at his feet. "None of the guilds need me anymore. I'm hardly there these days."

Serana continued, "If you asked any of your friends, I'm sure they'd tell you the same thing I am. You mightn't be the same as a villager walking down the street, but that doesn't mean you're not needed… or wanted."

"You don't understand…" Marcus said weakly, falling back on his old line, "I'm just a killer. That's all I'm -"

Serana reached forward and took his hands, her face softening. Marcus stared dumbly down at her fingers, clasping his. "Open your eyes, Marcus. Remember what you told me? That someone who perseveres in the face of every challenge is all the more beautiful for it? That describes you, not just me. Marcurio and the others have told me what you're like. You face the worst this world offers, and you never falter. You always keep on fighting, when everyone else would give up. That makes you one of the most beautiful people on Nirn. If that isn't someone who's needed, then I don't know who is."

Marcus' expression went blank, as his brain worked to try and disassemble, or disprove Serana's words and finding it simply couldn't. He blinked a few times, his features losing their hardness.

"I..." Marcus closed his eyes. "I don't..."

"You don't have to become a monster, to kill monsters." Serana said, letting go of his hands. Marcus nodded slowly. "You… Thank you. I… I think I need to do some thinking."

"Chin up, hero." Serana said, smiling playfully. "Don't become your own worst enemy." She bumped him on the shoulder and went back over to her bedroll. She gave him once last reassuring smile, and laid down, managing to fall asleep soundly before too long.

Marcus looked at her for a long while, then grabbed his sword and sat nearby, keeping watch, and thinking hard about her words.

* * *

Darkfall Cave looked like any other cave Marcus had seen. Certainly not the sort of place he'd imagine contained the weapon of a God. It was hardly even concealed. Various adventurers and the like had to have come by and at least had a small look in the cave in the past. Marcus wondered how the Bow could've remained out of history for so long.

As they entered, Marcus glanced at Serana. "What do you know of Auriel's Bow?"

Ever since the previous night, Marcus had seemed quiet. Friendlier, but at the same time it was clear there was a lot going on behind his eyes.

Serana looked away from the ceiling covered in various types of lichen to answer his question. "Not much. If you read into history, it show up here and there, but it's a hard thing to track. As far as I know, though, it's never been in the possession of a vampire. That'd be a new one."

"Do you know what it actually does?"

"That I don't know. Hopefully once we have it, it'll become obvious."

They continued walking inside, checking around themselves carefully. The cave seemed bland, until they came to a large cavern with a rope and wood bridge spanning a drop into rushing rapids. The water flowed from one side of the cavern's base to the other, like an underwater river. Marcus frowned as he crossed over the bridge. It didn't seem like the most sturdy of constructions, and groaned under his weight, but he reminded himself that he'd been on worse bridges and they'd held fine.

On the other side though, there wasn't any continuing path. Rocks had fallen down and barred the way forward. A lot of rocks, too. There was no way either of them were moving that much stone in any short time frame.

Serana said, "A dead end… that isn't good. What do we do?"

Marcus scratched his head. "This is definitely the right place. The scrolls wouldn't have pointed me here otherwise. Maybe we missed something on the way in." He turned and began walking back across the bridge.

Serana frowned, examining the section of rubble blocking the tunnel. It had definitely caved in a long time ago. "Hmm… I guess you must be right."

There was a loud creak of wood behind her, then the sound of a rope snapping.

Marcus said, "Uh oh..."

Serana twisted around just in time to see the middle section of the bridge, right where Marcus was standing, split in two and drop him into the fast rapids below. He had just enough time to make a stunned expression, before disappearing below the white rushing water.

"Marcus!" Serana cried. She ran to the edge of the bridge, and glanced around wildly. He was already gone, sucked down through the underground channel. There was nothing else for it. She took a deep breath and dived in after him.

The river rolled and threw them about for a good 60 seconds, barely giving much time above water for a gulp of air, before spitting them out into another cavern as it ended in a small waterfall filling a lake.

Marcus seemed to have copped the worst of it, given that Serana's vampiric blood meant she had better lung capacity than other people. He crawled out of the water and threw up a tankard or two worth of liquid from his lungs. Serana staggered out of the water, breathing heavily.

"Are you all right?" she asked him breathlessly.

He responded with a lot of coughing and spluttering. After a minute, he nodded and breathed deeply. "Yeah… I am now. Thanks for jumping in after me, I guess."

He released a blast of restoration magic through him, healing the scrapes and cuts he'd gotten from smacking into rocks and the like on the way down. Serana seemed alright.

Marcus stood up, and looked around. The cavern they were in seemed very wide, and stretched off into the darkness ahead. They looked around and shrugged at each other, before walking off. They weren't going back up the way they came, and Marcus had a feeling the scrolls were banking on him coming down this way.

After a minute, Serana stopped, and sniffed the air. "You smell that?"

Marcus stopped, and nodded. "Yeah. Trolls."

He drew his sword, calling a soft magical light into his left hand. They moved forward slowly, casting their eyes around the dim area. The crunch of a bone off to their left alerted them to their quarry. In a small patch of light from the glowing mushrooms on the wall, was a trio of trolls. One of them was munching on what looked like a femur. They crept closer, until they were just at the edge of the trolls' vision.

"How you want to play this?" Serana whispered.

"Take one each," Marcus said back. "I'll go for the one on the far left."

"I'll take the middle, then," Serana said. "What about the third?"

"I'll get some help." He stood up and breathed in, aiming his body at the far corner, behind the third troll. "Hun!"

The Thu'um filled the air, and a blue portal to Sovngarde opened up behind the third troll. As if she'd been waiting for this moment for hours, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt leapt through the portal and barreled into the lumbering beast, shouting a war cry and slashing it across the face with her sword.

Marcus stood up and charged at the now alert first troll, before Gormlaith got surrounded. Serana bolted for the second.

The first troll turned to face Marcus as he approached, and held its arms out wide as it roared a challenge at him. Marcus responded by darting forward and silently slashing upwards with his sword, opening a large diagonal wound across its chest from waist to neck. It roared again, in pain this time, and threw a large meaty claw at his face. Marcus ducked, feeling the rush of air as the arm went over his head, then pulled his dagger out of its sheath with his left hand.

He flicked the dagger into a saber grip, and buried it into the back of the hand that had just swiped past his face, then wrenched the arm downwards using the dagger as a handle. The troll was pulled forward, its left arm forced down across its chest in an awkward fashion, causing the beast to hunch over slightly and expose its shoulder and upper back.

Marcus pushed off the ground with his feet and shoulder-rolled over the back of the troll, ending up behind the beast, leaving his dagger stuck in its arm. Using his now free left hand, Marcus charged up an incinerate spell and unleashed it into the back of the troll's head. The spell half-charred, half-exploded the monster's skull, and it dropped down, dead.

10 seconds previously, Serana had engaged the second troll. She'd fired an ice spike or two at its chest as she ran up, but knew it'd do little to the frost-resistant beast. It lumbered forward and swung its claws at her, one after the other. She ducked under one, then dived forward to avoid the other, sliding between the troll's legs and slashing out the tendons in one of its knees as she went past with her dagger. The troll dropped to one knee, and Serana leapt up at its now lowered head, and wrapped her legs around its neck like it was giving her piggyback. Then, wielding her dagger in both hands, she drove it through the centre its third eye, then gave the handle of the weapon a good wrench. Bits of blood and optical flesh squelched out of the wound, and the troll gave a low groan, before collapsing backwards, dead. Serana jumped off the beast before it hit the ground, so it wouldn't crush her.

Gormlaith had dealt with her troll with a mix of slashes to the neck, and a well-placed fire breath shout. When all three beasts were dealt with, the ethereal warrior smiled at Marcus.

"A good fight, Dovahkiin." She nodded, sheathing her sword. "Maybe something tougher next time, eh?" Then the woman vanished into the air.

Serana wiped some of the troll blood off her legs, before looking up at Marcus. "A friend of yours?"

"I met her in Sovngarde. She was one of the ancient nordic heroes who fought Alduin."

"Really? You certainly know people in high places."

He smiled. "Well, you don't save the world and not meet a few special individuals."

They continued into the cave, until it began to become less dark. Natural light was coming in from somewhere up ahead. After rounding a corner, they came into a smaller, drier cavern with what appeared to be some crumbling ruins. The design wasn't of the typical nordic style, but rather something similar to what Marcus hadn't seen since he was in Cyrodiil. It was almost Ayelid.

A man was standing in front of the ruins. He wore an armour of white, and when Marcus got closer, it became clear that he too, was white.

Like a High Elf with snow-white skin, and white-grey hair. Marcus didn't know who, or what, he was looking at.

Serana was more interested in the ruins though, particularly one segment of the structure that looked like a domed roof, laid on the ground. "What is this? I feel some kind of power coming from it..."

The elf called Marcus. "Come forward. You have nothing to fear here."

The young man approached warily nonetheless.

The elf nodded in greeting. "I am Knight-Paladin Gelebor. Welcome to the Great Chantry of Auri-El."

Marcus blinked. "This cave is a temple to Auriel?"

Gelebor nodded. "Auriel, Auri-El, Alkosh, Akatosh… so many different names for the sovereign of the snow elves."

Marcus took a step back. "Snow elves? You're a falmer?"

The snow elf shifted. "I prefer snow elf. The name "Falmer" usually holds a negative meaning to most travelers. Those twisted creatures you call Falmer, I call the Betrayed."

Serana walked up behind Marcus. "Do you know why we're here?"

Gelebor nodded. "Of course. You're here for Auriel's Bow. Why else would you be here? I can help you get it, but first I must have your assistance."

Marcus tilted his head. "What type of assistance do you need?"

"I need you to kill Arch-Curate Vyrthur… my brother."

The pair looked surprised. Serana asked, "Kill your brother? Why?"

"The kinship between us is gone. I don't understand what he's become, but he's no longer the brother I once knew. It was the Betrayed… they did something to him."

"Like what?" Marcus asked. He'd never encountered the Falmer doing anything to people other than killing them, or feeding them to a Chaurus.

"I don't know… He's alive, I've seen him, but something's wrong. He's never under pain, or duress, he just stands there and watches, as though waiting."

Marcus and Serana shared a confused glance.

Marcus said, "How did this happen? What did the Falmer do?"

"They swept into the chantry without warning and began killing everyone there. I led a small group of Paladins against them, but we were no match for the Betrayed's sheer numbers. They slaughtered everyone and stormed the inner sanctum, where I believe they corrupted Vyrthur."

Serana crossed her arms. "Why haven't you tried getting into the Inner Sanctum yourself?"

Gelebor looked at his feet. "Leaving the wayshrines unguarded would be violating my sacred duty as Knight-Paladin of Auriel. And… an assault on the Betrayed guarding the Sanctum would only end with my death."

Marcus frowned. "Wayshrine?"

Gelebor nodded, as if remembering something. "Ah yes. Let me show you."

The snow elf lead them towards the dome sunk into the ground, and cast a small golden spell that made the symbol on top pulse with magic. Instantly, the entire dome rose out of the ground to reveal a small structure, with a large watery door on the inside. Like a wobbly mirror.

Serana breathed out, impressed. "So this is snow elf magic… incredible."

Gelebor gestured toward it. "This structure is a wayshrine. They were used for meditation and transport when the Chantry was a place of enlightenment. Prelates of these shrines were charged with teaching the mantras of Auri-Eld to initiates."

Serana asked. "What's that basin in the center signify?"

"Once an initiate completed his mantras, he'd dip an ewer in the basin, and proceed to the next wayshrine."

She crossed her arms. "So these initiates had to lug around a heavy pitcher of water. Marvelous. How long would they have to do that?"

"Well, once the initiate's enlightenement was complete, he'd bring the ewer to the Chantry's Inner Sanctum. Pouring the contents into a sacred basin of the sanctum would allow him to enter."

Serana raised an eyebrow. "All that just to end up dumping it out? Makes no sense to me."

Gelebor grated his teeth. "It's… symbolic. I don't expect you to understand."

Marcus held up his hands, "So let me get this straight. We need to do all that just to get into the temple, so we can kill your brother and claim Auriel's Bow?"

The snow elf sighed. "I know how it all sounds, but if there was another way I'd have done it long ago. The only way to get to my brother is by following the Initiates footsteps. The first lies at the end of Darkfall Passage, a cavern representing the absence of light."

Marcus asked, "How many more wayshrines are there?"

"Five in total. Spread far apart across the chantry."

He blinked. "These caves must be massive in that case."

Gelebor shook his head. "Oh no, the Chantry encompasses far more than a few caves, as you'll soon discover. But before you head out, you'll need the Ewer."

Gelebor handed Marcus a small silver jug. The young man hoped none of the water would spill out as they moved through the caves.

Marcus glanced at Serana. "I guess we'll be off then."

Gelebor nodded. "This may be the last chance we have to converse. If you have any questions, ask them. Other than that, I can only wish you a safe journey."

Marcus didn't have any questions, but Serana had one.

She asked, "How did you know we were looking for Auriel's Bow?"

Gelebor said, "For the thousands of years I've served as the Chantry's sentinel, there hasn't been a single visitor here for any other reason. They request Auriel's Bow, and I request their assistance. It's been repeated so many times, I can't imagine it any other way."

"Wait," Serana frowned. "How many people have you sent on this same task? Exactly?"

"I don't know," Gelebor shrugged. "But at least several hundred."

Marcus and Serana shared another glance, one of worry. Clearly the cave complex wasn't going to be an easy thing to traverse. If hundreds of people had undertaken this task and never returned, then whatever threats lay on the other side of the watery portal couldn't be underestimated. Marcus knew his words to Lydia were now complete lies. He'd had a premonition they were, anyway. Something like Auriel's Bow wasn't going to be an easy find, even by his standards.

Marcus breathed out, and walked up to the portal. Serana came up beside him, she looked tense. Hesitant, or unsure, about something. He gave her a reassuring smile, and after briefly returning it, she reached forward and clasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. Marcus was surprised, but he didn't let go.

They stepped through the mortal together, feeling the fuzzy magical warmth wash over them.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: You guys should see the notes I'm compiling for the final fight. I'm trying to figure out what's the functional anatomical limit you can put someone under before they simply keel over and die.**

 **I should also ask soon, are you guys going to want a lemon chapter or no? I'm honestly 50/50 as to whether I want to do it or not. On one hand, I've always felt it's a good culmination of the relationship path the Dragonborn and Serana head down in these stories, and would serve as a good knot-tie for this arc, but at the same time I worry it might detract from the seriousness/vibe of this story I've created so far. It's pretty far out of my standard writing comfort zone too, and while I'd be lying if I said I hadn't read a few in my time, I've never practiced writing one myself.**

 **So, really, it's up to what you all want. There'll be plenty of time before I ever get around to writing the associated chapter, so think about it a bit.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	46. Dawnguard: Chapter 8

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 8 – Emerging from Darkness

Marcus felt fuzzy, and warm. Similar to how it felt when he absorbed a dragon soul, but only in terms of the feeling on his skin. His stomach still churned slightly as the disorientation of being teleported somewhere. The beginning of Darkfall passage was, in a word, dark. Marcus couldn't see more than 3 metres in front of him.

"That… wasn't as unpleasant as I was expecting," Serana rubbed her arms. "Kind of warm, actually."

"I'm not a fan of portals, as a rule." Marcus sighed. "I don't think I've ever actually gone through a portal where the place I entered was better than the one I left."

Skuldafn came to mind, as a prime example. Valerica's lab was another.

The tunnel stretched on in front of them, with small glowing mushrooms placed sporadically along the walls as the only colour variation from the inky blackness. It was ominous, and seemed a prime spot for ambushes. Marcus' luck with portals didn't seem to be likely to change.

"You ready?" Serana asked him. "Whatever lies ahead, it's collectively killed hundreds of other people."

Marcus nodded. "So have I. Let's go."

* * *

Marcus ducked under the Falmer's axe, hearing the creature snarl in frustration as it realized its blow had missed. He stood up and took a quick step forward, before spinning his sword around and thrusting behind himself, just under his arm. The blade sunk into the Falmer's back, and it emitted a gurgle before it died. The remaining falmer nocked an arrow to its bow and aimed at Marcus, before its head was split open by an ice spear, and it spun across the cavern.

The after-battle silence was broken quickly as a strong icy breeze blew through the cavern. Marcus breathed out, and his breath fogged in front of his face. Serana walked up behind him, rubbing her hands together.

She said, "A breeze is good. Means we're getting close to the end of this cave."

"Not a moment too soon," Marcus rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache of a wound on his back he'd suffered a while back. He'd healed it, but the flesh was still sore. This cave complex had a variety of things he hadn't seen before, from flowers that hid themselves when approached, to patterned sabre cats with a penchant for stealth.

It still had boring old Falmer, though, which Marcus hated. Or at least, he hated the Chaurus' that always followed them around. He'd fought spiders the size of carriages, but those things still made his skin crawl.

Marcus was about to head inside one of the small huts that the Falmer had built, to check for anything useful, when a small chitinous structure to the side of the hut caught his eye.

It was about the size of a dog, and shaped like a bulbous stalagmite.

He heard Serana shuffling about in a hut behind him, as he walked up to the weird thing. It looked a bit like a Chaurus, but that was unsurprising since pretty much everything associated with Falmer was at one point a Chaurus.

 _Actually,_ Marcus thought, peering closer at the top part, _It looks a bit like a cocoon…_

His eyes went wide as his brain registered what it had just thought, and he threw himself backwards just as the Chaurus cocoon exploded in a mess of green goo and dark grey chitin, and a chitinous flying bug thing came out with an angry chittering noise.

It was like someone had made a regular Charurus ten times as skinny, then given it wings and made all of its appendages razor sharp. A small piece of Marcus' brain wondered at what the hell Kyne was thinking when she made this thing.

"The fuck?!" cried Marcus as he staggered backwards, not even having time to draw his weapons as the Chaurus insect launched itself at him with incredible speed and swung its barbed front arms at him.

The creature latched onto his chest and was about to scythe open his neck when Marcus did his equivalent of hitting a panic button.

"Feim!"

The Chaurus' arms passed harmlessly through Marcus' ethereal skin as the young man bolted away from the monster. It chittered angrily and went to follow him, when it got struck by a thunderbolt from Serana, who'd exited the hut after wondering why Marcus was shouting in such a high pitched voice.

The Chaurus whirled around and stared angrily at the surprised, but unyielding vampire. It flew quickly towards her, when Marcus' dagger flew through the air and sliced open the thin material of its left wing.

The creature dropped to the ground, clicking its mandibles in pain. Marcus and Serana, keeping a safe distance from it, then proceeded to blast it to Oblivion with lightning and fire magic, until the flying Chaurus was little more than a pile of thin charcoal lengths.

Serana breathed out in a relieved sigh. She looked over at Marcus, who was looking at the remains of the Chaurus creature with shocked bewilderment.

"They have wings now..." Marcus muttered in stunned disbelief. "They've gone and grown wings… Divines..."

Serana smirked, and walked over to him. She laughed as she saw his expression closer up. "Not a fan of nature's adaptive skills?"

Marcus just shook his head slowly. "I hate this place…"

Serana brushed a bit of imaginary dust of his shoulder. "Come on, there should be an exit up ahead. I can feel it."

They continued onward for a short while, until they came to the bottom of a large circular hole, which stretched upward towards the surface, where light and a cool wind came in. A small path ran around the edge, leading upwards. Both Marcus and Serana were glad to be out of the cave, and the beautiful forest that awaited them at the top was certainly a welcome surprise. The trees had orange leaves, like the Rift, only more… golden. Behind the treetops was a set of white snowy mountains, adding to the splendor of the vista.

"Wow..." Serana breathed out. "I don't know if the cave has put me in the wrong state of mind, but this looks gorgeous."

"It does..." Marcus breathed out, then found himself glancing sideways at her. "Definitely gorgeous."

Serana looked back at him, a content, happy expression on her face. "This is the sort of thing I've been meaning to see, you know?" She looked away and gazed back at the forest with its golden grass. "It makes everything else worth it..."

Serana walked away from the cave mouth, and down into the forest. One of the patterned deer frolicked away. The contrast from the dark, falmer-infested cave to the pretty forest was stunning. Marcus could only imagine what the place must've been like when the snow elves were prevalent here.

He walked down beside Serana, then peered through the trees. "I think I see another wayshrine up there. Let's go."

They made their way up to the wayshrine, and a similar ghostly figure to the first one appeared and spoke to Marcus with a smile so wide it almost seemed creepy. Marcus affirmed the ghost's over-zealous words about being enlightened from filling up a pitcher of water, and the spectral figure raised the shrine to let him draw from the basin. The pitcher was starting to get annoyingly heavy. Marcus would have to put it down whenever they got into combat.

Apart from a few spiders near a pass through a small mountain range, the pair went through the next section of the vale unmolested, until they got to a lake.

A waterfall, which was half-frozen over, dropped water into the lake where it collected and moved further south, underneath a large frozen sheet. Unlike much of the other frozen lakes in Skyrim, the top layer of ice seemed to be very thick, at least 20 centimetres.

After drawing more water from another Wayshrine, Serana and Marcus headed for the ice sheet on the lake, where they could cross over to the other side of the lake and continue up a pass that lead over some more short mountains. As they got closer, they saw a figure on the ice sheet. A tall figure.

Closer inspection revealed it to be a giant, of some sort. It had blue-white skin, and a head like that of a troll. Its build was also considerably stockier. Not as lanky as most of Skyrim's giants. It was barring their way to the mountain path.

"If it's like any of the other Skyrim giants," Marcus nodded towards it. "It probably won't take too kindly at us getting close."

Serana chewed her lip. "So… we need to get past it, and it'll fight us if we try?"

Marcus nodded. "Probably… You wouldn't happen to know how the invisibility spell, would you?"

"No, sorry."

"Ah well, no matter. We'll just have to fight it."

Marcus summoned a bound bow into his hand, and took up a position on a rock just before the ice sheet started. Serana crouched down behind a tree and readied a few lightning spells for when the giant got closer. Ice spells had more range, but she had no doubt this particular creature would be resistant.

Marcus got into a good position, pulled the arrow back on the ethereal bow, and fired.

He was never the best archer in Skyrim, but he was a good contender for second place. The arrow flew true, and struck the frost giant in the centre of its ugly forehead. With a roar, the frost giant raised its club up, and glared around for the source of the pain.

Marcus let flt another arrow, striking the giant in the upper chest. The creature saw the source of its anger: a small figure standing on a rock some 50 metres away. It began storming across the ice sheet towards him.

Marcus fired another three arrows in quick succession, striking the giant in the same area. Once it got closer, Serana fired a pair of lightning bolts at it, charring much of its chest. The giant switched targets to the vampire, and swung its huge club horizontally at her.

Serana leapt backwards, and the club slammed into the trunk she'd been taking cover behind and smashed through it. Bits of wood and splinters filled the air, and with a crash, the tree toppled over.

The giant, seeing its quarry a few more metres back unscathed, roared in anger again and lumbered forward, raising its club again.

An arrow struck it in the shoulder, right in a critical spot, and the giant staggered forward. A second later, another arrow hit it in the lower back. The frost giant turned angrily to see Marcus moving quickly down the snowbank, firing more arrows. The creature swung a quick blow at Serana, forcing her to dodge out of the way again, then quickly turned around and ran at Marcus to meet him halfway.

The young man tossed aside the ethereal bow, the weapon fading away a second later. He drew his sword, accelerating into a run. The frost giant growled at him, picking up its own pace. Another pair of lightning bolts struck its back, but the beast continued, ignoring the pain in favor of crushing the human in front of it with a powerful momentum-boosted blow.

The frost giant raised its club, ready to bring it crashing down on Marcus a second later. He readied himself, breathing in, and shouted as soon as the large brutish weapon began to descend.

"Tiid… Klo Ul!"

The club, about halfway descended, slowed to a snail's pace. Marcus was able to slow his own forward momentum, and slowly move to the side. The large club slowly hit the ground next to him and a large volume of snow and dirt seemingly began levitating upwards into the air as the full strength and weight of the giant's attack was transferred to the soft earth.

Marcus, keeping a close eye on his feet and balance, jumped onto the long shaft of the club while it was buried in the ground, and slowly moved up it. To him, it seemed like he was slowly creeping up the wooden weapon, but in reality, he was almost sprinting up it.

As Marcus reached the end of the club, he was nearly face-to-face with the frost giant. Confusion and surprise had begun to dawn on its features as it realized its situation.

Clambering off wooden club and towards the giant's head, Marcus wielded his sword in both hands and thrusted forward for the giant's neck. The creature's skin was thick and weathered, almost like boiled leather, but it wasn't tough enough to negate sharpened dragonbone.

Marcus' sword entered the frost giant's neck in a strange, slow fashion. Marcus made sure to bury the weapon up to its hilt, dark blood beginning to spray from the edges of the wound onto his hand, and towards his face. The droplets looked strange in such slow motion.

Then time returned to normal, and the first thing to hit Marcus' senses was a gurgling roar of pain from the frost giant as the blood normally reserved for its brain was suddenly spouting out of its neck. The second thing to hit him was the large spray of blood.

The giant dropped its club and tried to pry the man off its chest. Marcus, not wanting to get picked up and thrown aside, let go of his sword's hilt with his left hand, and charged up a fireball, before releasing it at point-blank range into the frost giant's large bloodshot eyeball.

The fire took the path of least resistance, which was forward at that point, and travelled from Marcus' hand and into the giant's skull, before exploding out the other side and leaving a smoking tube the size of a sweetroll burrowed through its skull.

The attempts to pry Marcus off its chest ceased, and the frost giant went limp, crashing to the ground. Marcus hopped off the torso of the beast and wrenched his sword out with another spurt of dark blood. A lot of the liquid now stained his chest, arms, and face.

Serana walked up to him, a faint smile on her lips. "A bit theatrical, wouldn't you say?"

"You're one to talk. I saw how you took down that troll earlier."

She rolled her eyes, then looked him up and down. "You look almost delicious right now."

Marcus looked down at the state of his person. "Yeah, it got a bit messy, I'll admit. Worked well enough, though." He glanced at the nearby lake. "I should probably clean myself off, before it clots."

She smirked, but said nothing else.

Marcus strolled over to the edge of the water, and peeled off his upper robes, and the ebony chainmail shirt underneath. Serana didn't say anything, but her eyes went wide as she took in the massive amount of scars covering his back alone. Claw marks, burns, slashes from swords, a lucky bite from a Dragon, a well-placed arrow… So many tales of past injuries. It wasn't enough to class as a disfigurement, but it certainly defied the expectations she had. Serana rarely saw Marcus actually get hit by an enemy, and when he did he normally just healed it straight afterward. For there to be this many scars… the man must've had to have been in hundreds of battles, and dozens of near-death ones.

Still, it wasn't entirely a harrowing spectacle...

Marcus splashed a little water on his face and limbs, wincing at the chill of the icy liquid. He rinsed off his clothes, before creating a small magical fire to dry them faster, and keep him warm.

Serana frowned as she saw the front of his chest, despite being obviously well muscled, and sporting plenty of scars like his back, there was a strange rune circling where his heart would be, stretching to his shoulder.

"What's that?"

Marcus glanced down at the rune, and hesitated. After some thinking, he just shrugged. "A little souvenir, I guess, of my battle with Alduin."

"Alduin gave you a tattoo?"

"No, I gave myself that tattoo, but I did it because of Alduin."

Serana blinked. "I… don't understand."

Marcus sighed, realizing he'll have to tell her the whole story. "When I realized I had to battle a God of Destruction, and win, I figured that conventional means mightn't work so well. So, using some magical scripts I found in hard-to-reach places, I made a little… 'corrupted' version of a restoration spell."

"I… What does it do?"

Marcus seemed uncomfortable sharing such information. Any time in the past that he'd told someone, they'd reacted adversely. "It's... a cross between a destruction rune and a self-consuming restoration spell, with a load of enchantments thrown in for good measure. The rune taps into the life-force of the person, and uses it as fuel for a massive explosion. The more life-force the person has left, the bigger the explosion."

Serana's eyes widened in surprise and incredulity. "You've… you've tattooed a bomb on yourself?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid." Marcus huffed.

"That's because it is!" Serana exclaimed. "So, at any point, you can just blow yourself up?"

"Sort of, yeah. I thought it'd be a good fall-back plan for when the fight with Alduin went south. But by the time that happened, I didn't actually have a whole lot of life-force left in me, so I had to double down on conventional means to defeat him, even if in an… unconventional context."

"And you never got rid of the rune?" Serana blinked.

"Well..." Marcus looked guilty. "I… I want to keep it around, just in case. If anything's tough enough for me to not be able to kill it, and evil enough for me to be trying to in the first place, it might be worth having a… contingency plan."

Serana unconsciously took a step back from him.

Marcus noticed the movement, and chuckled. "Don't worry. It'll never go off unless I specifically want it to. I'm not dumb enough to give myself a kill-switch and not keep it in check."

Serana sighed, then tilted her head and looked at closer. "Putting aside everything else… it's kind of cool, with the red swirls and all."

Marcus grinned. "I know, right? Shalidor had an eye for aesthetics, that's for sure. We should keep moving, anyway." He grabbed his apparel and put it back on, feeling much cleaner.

They continued for a good long while, trekking across a few snowy valleys and over some natural rock bridges. They found another wayshrine at the top of a hill overlooking a huge frozen lake. As Marcus figured how to shove what was now a very heavy pitcher into the enchanted pouch on his belt that could contain more stuff at a lesser weight, Serana watched him with a strange expression. His little frown of concentration as he tried to shove the pitcher in a tiny bag made a soft smile touch her face. His unkempt hair hung about his face in an almost ordered fashion, despite her knowing fully well Marcus did literally nothing to actually maintain his hairstyle in any order, apart from cleaning and cutting it once in a while.

Serana bit her lip, then turned and looked out over the expanse of snow and ice.

Her clothes blew about in the wind, the cape flapping about and seemingly straining at the air, eager to be free. Snow landed on her head, in stark contrast to her jet-black hair. The view in front of her was nice, but she seemed to have zoned out, somewhat. She didn't react, or seem to notice when Marcus made a brief 'Aha!' at finally managing to fit his pitcher away in a magical pocket. He hoped it wouldn't spill.

Looking up, Marcus saw Serana standing at the edge of the hill looking out over the vast lake, in a rather picturesque manner, with a posture he knew too well. That is, a posture of contemplation.

He walked up behind her. "You're, uh... looking a bit introspective there, Serana. Am I rubbing off on you?"

She snapped out of it, then turned and smiled at him beside her. "Probably. Should I be worried?"

"Almost definitely."

She laughed, the pure sound made Marcus' heart do some funny movements in his chest. He glanced away quickly, fixing his eyes on the spectacle in front of him and studying it fiercely instead.

Something caught his eye.

"Is that a word wall down there?" Marcus asked with a frown, pointing.

Serana followed his finger. "I think so, yes."

"Excellent." Marcus said, "Let's go take a look. It's been a while since I learned a new shout."

"Durnheviir taught you one just the other day."

"I used to learn a least a shout a day, back during my adventuring 'prime'. One shout a week is nothing."

They walked down the path, onto the icy lake. The ice itself was sturdy enough, and probably didn't melt no matter what season it was, so they weren't worried about falling through into the water below. Halfway across, Marcus stopped moving.

"What is it?" Serana asked him.

He didn't answer at first, just frowned and looked around a bit. "I just… I got a weird feeling."

"What sort of feeling?"

"I… the danger sort, I think."

Serana stopped and glanced around. There was nothing around them for at least a few hundred metres. Nothing even remotely hostile within eyesight.

Marcus shrugged. "It's nothing. I'm probably just a bit jumpy after all the Falmer."

They continued walking until they got to the wall, where Marcus spent a minute studying it. Serana couldn't see anything strange about the stone markings, but the young man spent a lot of time studying one particular section.

"Haas..." he murmured, his fingertips brushing on set of markings. "Interesting."

Serana looked up from a skeleton beside the wall. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm done here. Let's go."

They turned around and headed back across the lake. Again, halfway across, Marcus stopped.

"Another weird feeling?" Serana asked, concern beginning to touch her features.

Marcus frowned deeply. "I just… nevermind. I must be losing it, or ate something funny yesterday."

Serana was about to reply, when a tremor shook the ice sheet. Something rumbled.

Marcus' face dropped. His hands clenched into fists. His blood warmed. He knew exactly what the feeling was, now. One of his kin was nearby.

Another rumble, and the ice shook. Marcus drew his sword. The noise seemed to have come from a different place.

Marcus whispered to himself. "Oh no..."

There was more than one.

The ice sheet exploded in two locations, each about 100 metres away from the pair. A large, orange dragon came out of both holes, straight from the water. They looked different to other Dragons Marcus had seen before. Their bodies were… wider, and flatter. More lizard-like, in a way.

They filled the vale with a pair of roars, and flew high into the sky before fixing their eyes on the two humans.

Marcus felt a rush of nervous energy through his veins. In all his fights, he'd never had to take on two dragons at once. It'd only ever been one at a time. Plus, they were in a terrible place. Halfway across a lakebed, with no cover for several hundred metres.

The dragons seemed to coordinate their attack, and came at the pair from two opposing directions. They flew low to the ground, with the first Dragon breathing a long line of fire towards them, and the second breathing frost.

Marcus faced the fire dragon, while Serana turned to face the frost one. They inched towards each other, facing opposite directions. The lines of frost and fire being breathed along the ice toward them were getting close.

Their backs bumped against each other, and they glanced sideways at the same time.

Serana said, "Any advice?"

"Don't die." It came out more as a plea, but Serana didn't notice.

She nodded. "Great."

Marcus shouted Dragonrend at his approaching fire Dragon, while Serana raised a ward spell overhead, shielding herself and him from the sweeping frost. The fire Dragon caught the green energy blast full in the chest, and sent it crashing downwards onto the ice. Large cracks spiraled across the ground as the weight of the creature hit it.

The frost washed over the ward held up by Serana, the magic flickering but holding firm. The frost Dragon circled away, while the fire Dragon stood up and lunged forward at Marcus. He twisted to the left, dodging the huge mouth, and slashed across the side of the beast's face with his sword. Serana darted forward and dropped to a powerslide, gliding across the semi-slippery ice and stabbing the underside of its neck.

The Dragon roared in pain, and quickly shifted backwards. It glared down in front of itself, at the two humans, and breathed in. Marcus saw the red glow build up in the back of its throat. Instantly, he sheathed his sword, ran forward, and splayed both hands out right in front of its mouth.

The fire rushed out of the Dragon's mouth, but instead found itself hitting a hard wall. With nowhere to go the fire rushed out sideways, scorching the side of the beast's face. It growled in anger, before twisting its head sideways and swinging it like a club. It smacked into Marcus, and Serana just behind him, and knocked them across the ice a short way.

They slid to a stop, and got up quickly. Segments of the ice sheet were now disconnecting from each other, somewhat melted from the fire. A wave of razor sharp icicles washed over them as the frost Dragon made a strafe, harming Marcus slightly more than Serana thanks to her vampiric blood.

Marcus and Serana fought a grueling battle for another 5 minutes. The Dragons could blast them with breath attacks, where the pair would have to utilize ward spells or dodging to avoid being hurt. Occasionally the dragons would land, through their own will or through Marcus' use of Dragonrend, when which the pair would switch from destruction spells to their weapons, and try to do as much damage as possible before the beast took flight again.

It was working, but unsustainable. Before long their magical reserves were nearly depleted, and while they had attempted to move towards the closest available cover – the word wall – when they could, the Dragons seemed to sense such a motive and made progress slow.

It was a war of attrition that the Dragons seemed to be winning. Their bodies showed numerous wounds and burns, but it wasn't enough. They'd end up making a critical mistake sooner or later.

Unfortunately, in the case of Serana, it was sooner. The unsteadiness of the ice sheet with so much melting going on caused her to lose her footing as the fire Dragon moved closer, stepping on the edge of the ice sheet and making it lurch upwards. While she was off-balance, it exhaled a bright blast of fire, and the vampire wasn't able to dodge fast enough.

The flames blasted across the left side of her body, leaving dark burns on her arm and face, forcing her to her knees. The fire Dragon roared in triumph as Serana faltered, and breathed in again to finish the job. The flames rushed over her form, and she collapsed under the heat. Leaving the frost Dragon he was currently dueling, Marcus rushed to Serana's aid.

He sheathed his sword and used whirlwind sprint to get in between her and the Dragon, before duel-casting a greater ward spell to ensure not even a single more flame touched her.

The ward spell worked to great effect against the flames, but there was nothing he could do to avoid the frost dragon. With both arms occupied, and his back exposed, nothing stopped the dragon from lunging forward and wrapping its jaws around his torso. With a wrench of its head, it bit down hard on the young man and threw him sideways through the air.

Marcus' ebony mail protected his vitals, but the teeth still punctured the flesh on his arms and broke several ribs. He hit the ice hard, near the edge of the piece. Icy water lapped at his feet, staining itself red. His vision was a pulsed with a haziness in unison with his heartbeat.

Marcus clutched his side, blood leaking through his fingers. His left arm had a few holes in it, and his knee felt like it was dislocated, most likely from hitting the ice. He ignored it. Pain and recovery could come later. He breathed in deeply and sat up, shaky, and glared at the two dragons making their way toward him, their heavy bodies crunching against the ice as they moved. Serana hadn't moved, she was lying on the ice, still. It looked like she'd passed out from the pain of the fire, so the two beasts weren't bothered with finishing her off yet. Their faces were caked in black blood, and many scales were missing. Weakened, but not dead.

Marcus pulled his last potion out, a magicka replenishment one, and gulped it down. He could heal himself, but he knew it'd be a waste. Going all offense would be the best way of ensuring their survival.

 _Kill before you're killed._ Marcus told himself, _Before Serana is killed._

The Dragons were closer, their mouths opened as they began to breathe in to exhale their breath attacks once more.

A brief plan formed in Marcus' mind. It wasn't great, but he didn't have an alternative.

He leaned forward and wrenched his dislocated leg back into position, wincing in pain but burying it under the tide of emotion he'd felt when he saw Serana's smoking form.

Marcus stood up and broke into a run, drawing his sword and breathing raggedly. His body screamed in protest at him, but he just screamed back at it mentally and kept running.

The frost Dragon moved slightly ahead. 10 metres in front of Marcus was the edge of the ice section he was running on. He could feel the slight instability and tilt as he approached the end. His left arm couldn't hold a dagger, but it could still cast spells.

As he leapt over onto the second ice sheet, he fired a powerful impact lightning bolt at the end of the second ice segment. This one was thinner and smaller, meaning the huge amount of force the lightning bolt transferred in a downward direction at one end launched the other, which Marcus had just stepped onto, into the air.

The young man flew through the air and landed down on the frost Dragon, right on its neck. Placing his feet against the spikes adorning the beast's body for better footing to counteract the Dragon's flailing, Marcus raised his sword up high, gripped in both hands. Then he thrust downwards, the hardened, razor-sharp blade sliding in between the scales, through the flesh, and straight into the softer bone at the back of the Dragon's skull.

He pushed the blade in to its hilt, severing whatever vital cords ran along the Dragon's vertebrae and it gave a deep shuddering groan before going limp.

Marcus didn't get a chance to dwell on his victory, however, as the Fire Dragon next to him let out a shattering roar as its brother died. It breathed a swirling vortex of fire at Marcus which struck him in the back, flinging him off the corpse of the other Dragon and sending him spinning through the air.

He landed hard on the ice, probably bruising a few ribs, near Serana. Marcus glanced sideways, seeing her lying there with burn marks on her face and smoking clothes. Her eyelids fluttered weakly.

He stared at her form, then gritted his teeth. The skin from the dead frost Dragon began to burn. Marcus pushed at the ground and stood up, his heart hardening and the pain from his injuries fading.

The fire Dragon roared a challenge as Marcus turned to face it, and began to run. Tendrils of orange energy flowed from the Dragon's corpse into him, culminating in a huge orange spectacle of light enveloping him as he drew close to the Fire Dragon.

Marcus raised his hand, still running, at the burning Dragon corpse. The golden-brown colour of telekinesis swirled in his palm. His sword, buried in the skull, broke free under the pull of the orange-brown magic and flew towards his hand.

The remaining Dragon lunged forward with its jaws, aiming to swallow the top half of Marcus and bite him in two. The young man dropped to his knees and slid underneath the head, before raising his sword and thrusting upwards into the exposed chin with all his might.

The sword entered the soft scales underneath the Dragon's head easily, slicing through the flesh and impaling itself into the skull above. Marcus wrenched his sword upward again, feeling the vibrations in the handle as the blade cracked through the bone in the Dragon's skull. The beast tried to roar in pain, but made nothing but a deep gurgle as the blade obstructed its throat passages.

Its movements weakened, and Marcus kept pushing upwards with both hands until the Dragon stopped moving.

Covered in black blood, and plenty of red, Marcus crawled out from under the corpse, just as it began to burn.

* * *

Absorbing two Dragon souls in the space of a minute was a truly invigorating sensation, but Marcus couldn't care less. He cradled Serana in his arms and carried her as gently and as fast as he could to the word wall. Shielded from the wind, he knelt down and checked her vitals. She still had a pulse, but her breathing was irregular. Shaky.

He still didn't know the required spell to heal a vampire. He mentally cursed himself for not bothering to grab the tome the last time he was at the College. He didn't know if she'd be able to pull through on her own, but he didn't want to have to find out.

Marcus pulled his dagger out of its sheath, and laid Serana in his lap. He held the weapon in his left hand, and raised his right wrist up to the blade. Closing his eyes briefly, he dragged the blade across his exposed wrist. It cut through the flesh easily, as if it wasn't even there. Blood began to flow quickly.

Not wasting any time, Marcus held his bleeding wrist to Serana's mouth. Her instincts took over, and her lips parted, allowing a small but steady trickle of the crimson liquid to enter her mouth. The vampire girl moved forward slightly, once the taste was in her mouth, and unconsciously began drinking deeply from Marcus' wrist.

Marcus winced at the pain. He knew blood sustained vampires, and healed them, but he didn't know how long he would need keep this up for. A moment later, he was surprised to find he didn't care.

Serana drank from his wrist for a long time. Marcus nearly passed out himself at one point, but willed himself to stay conscious. After a while, she stopped drinking, indicating that whatever vitality that could've been restored by drinking his blood, had been restored. Marcus used the last of his magicka to close up the wound. He felt very weak.

He hoped Serana wouldn't want to move too quickly after waking up, because he sure wasn't.

10 minutes after he'd healed his arm Serana stirred. Marcus quickly realized the compromising position he was in, laying her in his lap, and instead moved her to the side, head against her cloak.

Her eyes opened a few moments later, and she glanced around. Her posture calmed upon seeing Marcus.

"You had me worried there," he said, smiling with relief.

Serana glanced around quickly. "The Dragons?"

"Dead."

Her posture relaxed more, and she sat up slowly. She rolled her tongue around in her mouth, confusion dawning on her face.

"I taste blood." Serana said. "It isn't mine."

Marcus unconsciously rubbed his wrist, thinking of what he should say. He didn't have to, as Serana noticed the action and put two and two together.

She looked almost horrified. "Oh no… You didn't..."

Marcus shrugged. "You were in a bad way, I did what I -"

She slumped forward, holding her head in her hands in a state of upset. "I'm so, so sorry. I should've been faster, and now you've… you've..."

Marcus frowned in confusion at her. "What are you saying? Why is that such a problem?"

Serana looked up, seeming very upset. "You… I've hurt you. Indirectly, perhaps, but I still hurt you."

Marcus shook his head. "It was just a cut, stop fussing. We're both alive, and the stuff that tried to hurt us is dead. All other details aren't important."

Serana looked unconvinced. Her face turned to one of sorrow, she stared at the ground in front of her. "I… The last thing I would ever, **ever** , want to do... is to hurt you. Judging from your paleness, I must've taken at least half your blood out. That shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have let it happen."

"Serana, look at me." Marcus gently reached forward and lifted her chin so she could see him. Her eyes sparkled a little. "If you're in need, I'll help you. You'd do the same for me. Would you rather I'd left you to die?"

"I..." a lump formed in her throat.

Marcus tilted his head to the side. "Why are you so afraid of getting me hurt? The entire last couple of weeks we've been in countless dangerous situations, and while I pride myself on killing things fast, we've both taken a few hits. Why is this any different?"

"I've…" Serana breathed out. She wondered if emotions were always so vivid after a near-death experience. "Never mind. It'd sound stupid."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Hey, look who you're talking to. If anyone's going to sound stupid talking about their feelings, it's me."

She sighed. "I don't want to become a burden, to drive you away. You're all I have left."

Marcus' face softened. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. Physically speaking, right now, I can't."

She nodded, trying to think of what to say. "I… I'm sorry. Thank you."

He smirked humorously. "Stop apologizing so much. You're acting so saintly it's making me feel guilty."

Serana almost apologized for that too, but she stopped herself.

Marcus glanced up at the sky. "It's nearly evening. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty damn tired, and this place is as sheltered from the wind as anything. Want to camp here?"

Serana nodded, "Yeah. That sounds just about perfect, right now."

"Ok. You can take first watch, that can be your 'punishment' to alleviate your guilt."

Serana nodded in agreement, until she realized the second half of that sentence was a joke. Marcus rolled his eyes at her, then laid back against the stone and promptly passed out.

* * *

Marcus dipped the ewer into the last wayshrine basin. It was now full. Serana breathed out in relief, then turned to face the final section of the valley. There was a short chasm, spanned by a bridge, then a huge structure of white and grey stone was embedded into the mountain.

Marcus walked up beside Serana. "I think that'll be it."

She nodded. "That has to be the place. I've never seen a building like that before, though it certainly looks like some kind of temple. The bow has to be in there."

Serana went to go move forward, but Marcus stopped her.

"Hey," Marcus reached out and touched her shoulder. "There's no telling of what we'll be facing in there, so… Could I just say something? I'll be quick."

Serana nodded, a token of surprise in her eyes. "Sure."

"I've been thinking pretty hard about a few things for the last couple days, and after what you said last night, I think you should know."

Serana's face turned slightly red at the mention of last night. She'd told the truth, but she worried she might've seemed too emotive, in contrast to her normal self. "Wha… What are you saying?"

"I'm not that good with words…" Marcus said slowly, pulling his thoughts together. "I used to be, but… for most of the last year I spent more time amongst monsters and creatures than I did people. For every hour I spent in a city or town, I spent three in a dungeon or cave. It's… conditioned me."

"Conditioned you?"

"I've grown to prefer fighting over talking. In combat, it's easier to think. Every action has two clear outcomes, kill or be killed. It's straightforward, and with enough experience, it's a relatively simple affair. But with conversing… Things can go any of about a hundred paths, and it's hard for me to pick the words that lead to the path I want."

Serana looked confused, looking at Marcus with a soft frown, unsure where he was going with this, but inexplicably wanting to hear him finish.

Marcus took a deep breath and continued. "So… understand that it's hard for me to say this, but… I admire you. You're like the version of me that I should've become. You've shouldered all these hardships, carrying the fragments of your shattered life on your back, but never once let them compromise who you are, or how you treat others. You've maintained your ethics and your personality, your ideals and bonds, through challenges that would've broken anyone else."

Serana's eyes went wide. Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came out apart from a small gasp.

Marcus twisted his hands nervously, seeming almost like an anxious child in that instant, "And then I look at myself, how I've changed with the things I've had to endure. I've pushed my friends away, taken to throwing myself at any foe willing to fight me in an attempt to make it all simple again. I've killed hundreds of people, thousands of creatures. I've caused the death of so many things, many of which I never bothered to discern if they deserved to live. And for what? For the abilities that allow me to continue to do the same, only more effectively."

He looked up at Serana, staring into her large glassy eyes. "But traveling with you, hearing you speak, watching you act. Seeing how hard you tried just to let someone as messed-up as myself know I'm worthwhile… and knowing that I can actually be a positive force in someone's life again... It's pushing me to be better. To be more like you. To embrace the type of person that I should've been all this time, but just wasn't strong enough to be. So… thank you. As modest a repayment as it might be, know that I'll always be by your side, for as long as you need me."

Serana's mouth hung open slightly, stunned. Her cheeks were as red as her pale skin allowed them to get and burned so fiercely she honestly wasn't able to discern if tears were going down them. Her mind wasn't able to form any words, so she settled on actions instead. She rushed forward and pulled Marcus into a tight hug, clutching at him in an almost needy fashion. He wasn't expecting the embrace, but returned it readily.

When she finally released him, which was after a long time, had regained most of her composure. She still seemed a bit flustered, but with a warm glow he hadn't seen on her before.

"Thank you, once again, Marcus." She said warmly, then gestured with her head towards the temple. "Come on, let's go see what fate has in store for us."

He grinned, and nodded with firm agreement, glad for things to get back to being simple. They began making their way across the bridge, towards the Chantry of Auri-El, the midday sun illuminating the area with a splendid brilliance.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: I've officially started University, and as such I've got much less spare time than I have for the last year. The time frame necessary to get chapters out will become worse. This one took ages in particular because writer's block slammed me out of nowhere. That Dragon fight took ages, and I'm still not happy with how it turned out. This is regrettable, but unavoidable. Some days I literally have to go around 13 hours before I get a single minute of downtime, let alone enough spare time to write any amount of a chapter.**

 **Don't worry though, this story won't ever be abruptly halted. I enjoy writing it too much for that to happen, and still have plenty of ideas left. I'll still write away whenever I can, and the chapters will come out when they can.**

 **Consensus on the lemon chapter is generally in favor of it, so I guess I'll be trying out my hand in the more serious side of romantic storytelling in a few chapters. It'll probably take me ages to write, but whatever.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	47. Dawnguard: Chapter 9

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 9 – Revelations

Marcus and Serana entered the Chantry of Auriel warily. They spun in slow circles, weapons drawn, as they carefully checked their quarters and flanks. Nothing seemed to be inside. No Falmer, at least.

That changed after they left the entrance hall. Inside a main sort of 'lobby' area, they were confronted with a number of icy statues. Or at least, they looked like icy statues at first glance. Upon second glance, it became clear that they were actual Falmer, encased in ice.

"What in Oblivion..." Marcus muttered, peering closely at one of them. "This is properly messed up..."

Serana shook her head slowly. "They're… frozen in the ice… and I thought the soul cairn was creepy."

Marcus knelt down beside a chaurus. He'd never actually had a chance to examine one in such close, pristine detail. They looked just as nasty as he imagined. Lots of spiky bits, mandibles, and armour plating. There seemed to be a gap in said plating just where the neck connected to the torso.

 _Good to know,_ Marcus thought to himself.

Standing up, he walked up to another frozen Falmer beside a pillar, while Serana examined an altar in the middle of the room. This particular creature seemed to be holding something. Marcus peered closer. It was a golden necklace, with a large ruby in the middle of the centerpiece.

"What?" Marcus blinked, reaching forward and grabbing it. "Why would a Falmer have a -"

The Falmer exploded out of its icy confines and stabbed him with a shard of ice in the gut. His chainmail shirt protected him for the most part, but the pain still made itself noticed.

Marcus staggered backwards, reeling. Serana glanced sideways at the noise, and saw him flailing backwards with an icicle in his stomach. She cried out in frightened anger and fired a thunderbolt at the Falmer, blasting it apart into chunks of reddish ice.

Marcus leaned against a pillar, and pulled the shard of ice out of him. It had only just pierced the skin, so not a bad wound. He closed it up with a small healing spell.

"Are you all right?" Serana asked quickly, running up to him.

He nodded, eyes wide, breathing heavily. "Yeah… I'm not examining anything closely related to Falmer ever again."

She smiled. "That sounds like a good plan. Do you need a minute?"

"Nah, I'm good. Let's keep moving."

They continued further into the Chantry. A few more frozen Falmer exploded out of icy statues when they got close, but they were prepared this time. Plus, seeing as there was never more than one at a time, they were easy to dispatch. After 5 minutes of walking, they came to a short drop into an icy tunnel. It seemed much of the Vale had begun to creep into the Chantry, varying from a bit of ice on the floor, to an entire hallway swallowed by snow.

They emerged into a large room, with a tall ceiling, pillars, and dozens of frozen Falmer stretching in every direction. At the far end was a throne of sorts, with a series of tall ice spikes sticking out around it and preventing easy access by foot. An elf sat on the throne, staring at them as they entered.

It was Vyrthur. It had to be.

Marcus and Serana stepped into the middle of the room, about to speak, when Vyrthur beat them to it.

"Did you really come here expecting to claim Auriel's Bow?" He began condescendingly. "You've done exactly as I predicted and brought your… 'fetching' companion to me."

Serana blinked. "Wait, is he talking about me?"

"Of course he is," Marcus replied, eyes still fixed on the snow elf.

"Which means," Vyrthur said with a sneer, "Your usefulness is at an end!"

As if on queue, several of the frozen Falmer and Chaurus' around the room came to life with a shatter of ice and a growl. The creatures made no pauses, and beset upon Marcus and Serana from all sides, the pair forced to stand back-to-back, fighting off the creatures swarming them.

Marcus kicked an approaching Chaurus in the mandibles to knock it back, then sliced off a Falmer's hand as it reached for his throat. To his left he heard the sound of ice destruction magic, so he quickly turned and ducked, feeling the icy projectile sail over his head. Marcus fired a fireball in the rough direction it had come from. Another Falmer rushed forward from his right and tried to stick a shard of ice in his ribs, but the ebony chainmail underneath stopped the improvised weapon before it pierced his skin. Marcus reversed the momentum direction on his sword and cut the Falmer's head off its shoulders.

Behind him, Serana ducked under an ice spike and launched a lightning bolt in retaliation. It struck the offending Falmer in the upper chest and blew its torso out from under its head.

Brittle was a good word for these Falmer. They were creepy, but brittle.

A Falmer to her left slashed her across the cheek with its claws, causing her to grit her teeth in pain and ram her dagger sideways through its head. With a twist from her inhumanely strong arms, the dagger broke out of the creature's skull with a crack, and she was able to use it bring it around to her right to slice open the face of an approaching Chaurus.

Then there was silence, as the pair realized that was the last of them. It was over as abruptly as it had started.

Vyrthur didn't seem overly fussed. "An impressive display, but a wasted effort!" he barked. "You delay nothing but your own deaths!"

The snow elf raised his hand, still seated on the throne, towards the roof of the chamber. A crack filled the air.

"Watch out!" Serana yelled, moving to the side of a pillar. "He's pulling down the ceiling!"

As if to confirm her words, a huge chunk of stone fell down from above and crashed into where Marcus would've been standing, had he not rolled out of the way.

"Finish them!" Vyrthur shouted.

More Falmer burst out of their icy confines, and swarmed at the now separated pair. With attacks coming from a 360 degree angle, Marcus and Serana soon found themselves fighting defensively. It also didn't help that this time there was twice as many Falmer swarming them. Marcus ducked underneath a bound sword swung by what looked to have once been a Falmer shaman, and promptly kicked it in the chest with enough force to send it reeling backwards into one of the long ice spikes sticking out from Vyrthur's throne. It was impaled through the chest, and promptly broke apart.

A Falmer stabbed an ice shard in Marcus' back a moment later, while he wrestled off two more at his front trying to grapple him. He felt a small ice spike smack into his left shoulder a moment later, the enchantments reduced the severity and size of the projectile, but he still felt the cold sting of blood trickle down onto his forearm.

Gritting his teeth, Marcus realized he needed more space. He flung his dagger at the spellcaster Falmer a few metres away, and gripped his sword in both hands. Then, he shouted.

"Su Grah Dun!"

A few seconds later, every Falmer around him was in halves, and he was able to use telekinesis to recall his dagger back into his hand. Behind him, he heard a series of consecutive thunderclaps as Serana fired off a number of chain lightning bolts. As he turned around, he saw the pieces of whatever had been engaging her crumble to the ground. Silence returned.

Vyrthur broke it with his angry voice, "This has gone on long enough."

Serana retrieved her dagger from the corpse of a Chaurus, and strode forward angrily at the snow elf. "Your life ends now, Vyrthur!" Her eyes had begun to glint with a dangerous look.

Vyrthur glared back. "Child, my life ended long before you were born!"

A few more chunks of rock fell down from the ceiling, and Marcus felt one hit his shoulder as he tried to dodge. It broke apart on contact, but so did his collarbone. Blotting out the pain, he blasted himself with healing magic, then brought up his weapons as Falmer began to swarm them again.

Marcus and Serana were closer now, though, so they were able to support each other occasionally by taking out one of the creatures in the other's flank. But it wasn't much. Every remaining frozen creature in the chamber had become reanimated, to the point where they were almost crawling over each other to reach the pair battling in the centre.

Between their enchantments, Marcus' armour, and Serana's vampiric strength, the individual Falmer and Chaurus' weren't able to do much damage, but when 5 or 6 of them were attacking at once? The little cuts added up.

Marcus struck at a Falmer in front of him diagonally, splitting the creature from right shoulder to left leg, but couldn't even grimace in satisfaction before another one had leapt forward from behind to fill its place. Even his area-effect spells didn't have much of an impact, as the volume of bodies swarming him absorbed the magical fire and lightning before it could spread out.

Serana was but a metre away from him, but he could hardly even get a chance to glance in her direction, much less gauge how well she was faring.

He forced himself to concentrate on his own tasks. He trusted her to hold her own. She was better at it than anyone he'd ever met before.

Serana was thinking the same thing about Marcus, and deliberately reminded herself that the man had fought the firstborn of a God, and come out on top. The thought removed the niggling anxiety in the back of her mind, allowing her to concentrate better.

A Falmer swung a bound sword at her neck, so she raised her dagger to block it, then blasted it backwards with an icy spear in its chest. Another Falmer on her left opened up a cut in her leg with its claws, so she shattered its kneecap with a kick and slashed it across the throat. Whether it died or not, Serana didn't know, as its momentary falter was enough for another creature to rush forward and fill the same space.

A Chaurus wrapped its mandibles around Marcus' leg and bit down hard. He dropped to a knee. A Falmer reached forward from his left side and grabbed his arm, allowing the two Falmer in front of him to stab at his chest with bound sword. His sword, wielded by his one free arm, was able to parry away the first, but the second slipped past his defense and sunk into his ribs. The ethereal blade made it past the chainmail and sunk the first three centimetres of the blade into his flesh.

Marcus clenched his teeth in pain, then wrenched his dagger-arm free and ripped it through the chests of the two foes in front of him. He then spun in a circle, slicing off the face of the Chaurus behind him and cutting halfway through the Falmer that'd tried to grapple his arm. Even more creatures rushed to fill the places of the ones he'd cut down.

For the first time, Marcus felt truly outnumbered. He'd been surrounded before, but never by quite this many opponents. Plus, he'd never designed his current armour for such a vicious fight. Things needed to change.

"Feim!"

The shout burst from his lips, his primal part of his brain enacting the plan it had concocted before his conscious mind had even realized it.

Marcus pushed through the Falmer, his ethereal form brushing past them and emerging outside the seething mass. The Falmer inside had barely begun to react to his seemingly impossible disappearance.

Marcus shouted again, only this time not in Dovahzul. "Serana! Drop to the floor!"

He couldn't tell if she'd reacted, but a piece inside him trusted her to trust him. Another piece tried to remind him just how much the next step would hurt. It always did, using two shouts so close to each other.

"Yol, Tor Shul!"

Flames burst from Marcus and blasted through the mass of icy creatures. The Thu'um didn't pause or lessen as its magical flames washed over the countless bodies. Many of them melted, while others were just blasted apart. As the pieces of broken creatures fell down, Marcus saw Serana kneeling down low amidst the pieces of frozen flesh, eyes wide with alarm and confusion, but following Marcus' request nonetheless.

The remaining 4 Falmer, and 2 Chaurus' weren't even shocked to find their numerical advantage reduced so dramatically, and threw themselves at the pair with the same mindless conviction as before. Serana stood up and ran to meet Marcus in the centre of the room, where they fought back-to-back once more and dispatched the stragglers. Marcus felt blood trickling down from his arm, chest, and various other places where one of the monsters had gotten lucky. Serana looked similarly worse for wear.

Her hair was matted with sweat, and her cape was missing – torn off from dodging not quite fast enough. The black fabric of her vampire armour was cut in various places, the pale skin underneath circling the red bleeding cuts. Marcus felt a surge of anxiety upon seeing her state, and turned to face Vyrthur with a look that could've made a troll run in fear.

Serana glanced at Marcus, seeing blood dripping down from his arms and face. The young man seemed tired, which rarely happened. The cloth parts of his armour sported numerous dark patches from the blood leaking out of his wounds, and the armour covering his left knee was shredded, revealing the raw flesh underneath. Blood dripped off his fingers in a slow, but steady pace, as it trickled down his arms. Her face turned dark with anger, and she gripped her dagger so hard she almost bent the metal.

"Enough!" She shouted at the snow elf, barging past Marcus and almost screaming at the figure on the throne. "This ends now!"

"No!" Vyrthur stood up, his expression finally changing to one of concerned anger. "I won't let you ruin centuries of preperations!"

"Surrender and give us the bow!" Serana shouted back.

"Death first!" Vyrthur screamed, calling a strange golden magic into his hands. A yellow sphere appeared around him, that quickly sucked in bits and pieces of debri from around him. Many of the long ice spikes poking out around the throne got sucked into the sphere of magic, almost orbiting him. Marcus and Serana both unconsciously took a step back at seeing this new unusual magic. Then they ran forward, hoping to reach the snow-elf before the spell activated.

They weren't fast enough.

With a colossal boom the sphere exploded with energy, shattering the walls, ceiling, and filling the air with blinding white light. Marcus felt a piece of stone debris smack into his forehead, and everything went black.

* * *

 _Lora looked sideways at him, a curious look on her young face. "What are the stars?"_

 _Marcus raised an eyebrow at her. "I've told you before, haven't I, sis?"_

" _No." She shook her head._

 _Marcus frowned. He was pretty sure he had. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Still, he couldn't really say no to her, least of all about something so trivial._

" _The stars are from when the world was made." Marcus explained, as as articulately as he could. It'd been a few years since he'd been taught the information. "When the Gods left Nirn, the small portals they made between here and Atherius, became the stars."_

 _Lora titled her little head sideways, her short brown hair brushing past her face. "So if you flew up high enough, you could go through those portals?"_

" _I..." He blinked at her. "I dunno. I hadn't thought of that. I don't think so, I think they're more aesthetic than anything else."_

" _Do you think the Gods ever come back? Do they ever walk through Nirn as they did before?"_

 _Marcus hesitated. Personally, he felt that the Gods couldn't care less about what happens on Nirn. They rarely seemed to before. But he couldn't tell her that, it was a bit to grim for a 6 year-old to know._

 _Marcus said, "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."_

 _Lora frowned, then looked back up at the stars. "What about that crack, then?"_

" _What?" Marcus turned to face the dark sky, and saw a huge bright crack splitting it in two. With a rumble, the crack widened and a chunk of the dark sky was lifted upwards, flooding everything with white light as -_

* * *

Serana heaved off the last chunk of rooftop from Marcus' body, revealing his face covered in chalky dust. His eyes fluttered, weakly. He had a bloody red smear down the left side of his face.

Serana knelt down beside him, cradling his body. "Are you alright? Can you move?"

Marcus blinked, he felt confused, the world and his consciousness only just returning to him.

"Come on," Serana pleaded, holding his head upright in her hand. "He's up on the balcony. We can do this, I **know** we can!"

Marcus stared up at her face, looking into her bright orange eyes. They seemed to sparkle as they looked down at him. Something warmed inside his chest, and he realized something.

Something very important.

It was this realization that restored energy to his limbs, and burned away the bleariness in his mind. He clenched his jaw, and reached forward. He clasped Serana's outstretched hand, and heaved himself to his feet, out of the broken remains of the chamber.

Marcus took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, centering himself. He wasn't quite sure what parts of his body were broken, and which weren't. They all seemed to hurt the same amount. He was standing though, which meant his physical condition couldn't be too bad. He'd fought in worse states.

Marcus opened his eyes, and glanced around. He reached down into the rubble and pulled out his sword. His dagger was lost, but no matter. He could make another. He looked back at Serana, and nodded firmly.

"Let's go. He can't escape now."

She smiled in relief, then a darker, angrier look overtook her features as her eyes were drawn to the various injuries adorning his body. Her face adopted a look of steely determination, and they both ran out onto the balcony.

Vyrthur was at the far end, leaning against the stone railing and clutching his shoulder. He glared at them as they approached.

Serana stormed up to him, and without even pausing to initiate a dialogue, she kicked him in the stomach, full-force. The snow-elf collapsed with a heaving gasp, clutching his chest, leaning against the railing.

"Enough, Vyrthur." Serana spat. "Give us the bow!"

He stared back venomously, "How dare you… I was the Arch-Curate of Auri-EL, girl! I had the ears of a God!"

She kicked him again, in the face. Marcus heard the crack of teeth. Vyrthur slumped sideways a little. "Yes, yes, until the 'Betrayed" corrupted you." Serana frowned in annoyance. "We've heard this sad story."

Marcus glanced warily at Serana. She was acting… unusually brutal. He couldn't imagine what'd given rise to this. Perhaps the last 24 hours had taken a stronger toll on her than he suspected, if not in the physical sense.

Vyrthur gasped, and spat out a tooth, before looking up at her. "Gelebor and his kind are easily manipulated fools. Look into my eyes, Serana. You tell me what I am."

Serana reached down and grabbed a hold of his armoured collar with one hand. She lifted him up to face height effortlessly, staring harshly into his eyes. A moment later her own widened, and she dropped him, taking a step back. "You're… you're a vampire? But Auriel should have protected you…"

Marcus peered closer at the weakened snow elf. His eyes burned with the same brightness as Serana's. She was right.

Vyrthur made a hateful expression. "The moment I was infected by one of my own Initiates, Auri-El turned his back on me. I swore I'd have my revenge, no matter the cost." He turned to face Marcus for the first time. "Killing one of his children is an added bonus."

Marcus gave him a dark look, "Greater than you have tried."

Serana frowned in confusion. "You want to take revenge on a God?"

"Auri-El himself was beyond my reach, but his influence on our world wasn't. All I needed was the blood of a vampire and his own weapon, Auriel's Bow."

Serana gasped, her anger replacing with shock. "Blood of a vampire… Auriel's Bow… It was you? You created that prophecy?"

Vyrthur stood up, almost proudly. "Yes. A prophecy that lacked a single, final ingredient… the blood of a pure vampire. The blood of a Daughter of Coldharbour."

"You were waiting… all this time for someone with my blood to come along." Her dawning realization gave way to anger. Almost fury. She reached forward and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up. "Well, too bad for you… I intend on keeping it. Let's see if your blood has any power to it!"

She threw him at the balcony railing, the snow elf smacking his head against it, leaving a slightly bloody mark on the marble railing. Serana ran up to him and raised her dagger for the killing blow, while Marcus was only just getting into a combat stance. Vyrthur rolled over to avoid the arcing downward blade, then kicked her legs out from underneath her.

Serana smacked into the ground, and Vyrthur pulled a small enchanted elven dagger out of a sheath on his leg, standing up. Marcus ran forward to protect Serana, getting between her and the snow elf quickly, then dueling him while she stood up.

Vyrthur was fast. Faster than any vampire Marcus had fought before, easily. A result of his incredible age, no doubt.

The snow elf fired an ice spike at Marcus, and when the young man ducked, did a somersault of his shoulder to end up on the other side of him. Then, Vyrthur jabbed his dagger into Marcus' back. The ebony chainmail underneath stopped the dagger from being buried to the hilt, but it still penetrated the skin. Marcus grunted in pain, and half-dodged, half staggered forward to avoid the elf pulling the weapon out and following up with another attack. He leaned against the railing while trying to grasp the handle protruding from his back.

Serana darted forward from the side and blasted a lightning bolt into Vyrthur's torso at point blank range, while simultaneously stabbing him in the chest. Her magical reserves were a bit better than Marcus' whose were basically depleted. Vyrthur staggered backwards, her blade still between his ribs. Serana fired another lightning bolt, this one slightly less bright than the previous. Vyrthur raised a ward with one hand, quickly, using the other to pull Serana's dagger out of him.

Marcus turned around, pulling out Vyrthur's dagger out of his back and throwing it at him quickly. The elf saw the weapon coming and deflected it with Serana's dagger, showcasing his immense speed once more. The young man used his now free left hand to use the last of his magicka to heal himself, stopping the steady flow of blood out of his back. His mind was protesting valiantly to tell him to do something more along the lines of self-preservation, but Marcus ignored, reminding himself of what he'd recently realized, and exactly what it meant. The pain subsided.

Serana fired a pair of lightning bolts at Vyrthur, but they just were absorbed by the ward. The snow elf charged forward, slashing at Serana's stomach. The girl was almost able to dodge backwards, the dagger cutting through the front of her robes and drawing a thin cut across her waist. Vyrthur continued past Serana, directly at Marcus, wielding the dagger in two hands with an iron grip.

Marcus saw the elf approaching, and a small, simple tactic popped into his head. As Vyrthur lunged forward with the dagger, the blade homing in on his sternum, Marcus reached out with his free left hand and slammed it open-palmed onto the top of the blade.

The elven dagger cut straight through his barely-protected palm, emerging from the back of his hand with about 8 centimetres free. Vyrthur's eyes widened in confusion, as Marcus deliberately pulled his impaled hand, and thus Vyrthur's own hands, sideways. This exposed the snow elf's stomach

As Vyrthur pulled the dagger out of the awkward position, Marcus lunged forward with his sword, and buried it into Vyrthur's stomach. The dragonbone blade cut through the elven armour and sank deep into the flesh underneath. Vyrthur's eyes went wide, but Marcus knew it wouldn't be enough to kill him outright.

With a roar, Marcus lifted Vyrthur's body upwards with his right arm, then crouched and got his shoulder underneath the elf's hunched-over chest, before pushing up at the ground with his feet.

With a cry, Vyrthur tumbled over Marcus' shoulder, over the railing behind him, and fell the odd 100 metres to the jagged icy outcrops below. He smacked into them with a crunch, and his limp, broken body then fell past said outcrops towards the frozen lake further below.

Marcus watched the elf fall, and knew without a doubt he was dead. No-one comes back from that kind of fall. The young man turned around, breathed out, then slumped to the floor. Serana walked up to him, using the railing for support.

"Is he dead?" She panted.

"Yes." Marcus nodded. "He's dead."

Serana nodded in relief, then looked up and down at him. "You going to be ok?" Her words were short and breathless.

"Will you?" Marcus replied, breathing out heavily, then wincing at the pain the movement brought him.

She nodded, raking in a few breaths before answering. "Yeah… cut on the stomach wasn't deep enough to do anything too bad. I'm just going to rest here... for a moment."

Marcus was about to say something, when the centre of the balcony rose upwards, revealing another Wayshrine. Out of which, Gelebor stepped.

Marcus nodded towards the snow elf, who was spinning in a circle and taking in the huge amount of damage to his Cathedral with a shocked look. "Hopefully he'll know some healing spells." He waved a hand at Gelebor, causing a bit of blood to flick about from the gaping hole in his palm. Gelebor saw them, walking over. His pace quickened to a run when he saw the state of the two adults.

* * *

"It's..." Serana scratched her head as she tried to find the right words. "…not as shiny as I was expecting. Still, it's beautiful."

Marcus nodded in agreement. They were sitting on a piece of rubble on the balcony, looking down at the artifact that was laid out on Marcus' lap: Auriel's Bow.

If he was being honest with himself, Marcus thought the bow was a bit of a let-down initially, after what they went through to get a hold of it. Or at least, in the aesthetic sense it was. He hadn't had the chance to fire it at something yet, though Gelebor had promised it was as powerful as the legends had them believe.

But closer examination from Marcus' trained eye could tell him it was something uniquely special. He couldn't think of a single metal on Nirn that matched what the bow was made of, and it's certain dull glimmer it made when the sunlight shone on it… it radiated a sense of majesty.

Marcus breathed out, then tore his gaze off the weapon to look at Serana beside him. "What do we do now?"

Serana closed her eyes, and sighed heavily. She seemed to tell herself something, nodding in agreement with her thoughts. "I think we both know… it's time to face my father. If we don't, he'll just chase us for the rest of our lives."

Marcus smiled a tired, sombre smile. "You know what that means, right? If we face him, either us or him are going to die."

Serana sighed again. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. It's… it's not easy, but I don't think we have much of a choice."

Marcus hummed in agreement. "I know. We can't reason with him, and we can't hide."

"No." She shook her head. "We can't. This had to end here and now."

Marcus reached forward and placed a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. He gave it a little squeeze. "Then let's face him, together."

She smiled in thanks at him, then stood up. "Well, if we had back to the Castle and kick the front door in, we're going to be knee-deep in his friends and the countless thralls he's probably accumulated in anticipation of us by now. Let's head back to Isran and let him see what we've got first. I'm betting he'll lend us a couple fighters."

Marcus grinned, some thoughts running through his head. "Yeah… I have a few ideas of where we might be able to get a few more..."

* * *

Fort Dawnguard was a veritable hub of activity in the afternoon. The Companions were amassed in the outside training areas, giving a basic run-down of various combat techniques to the Dawnguard members and ensuring they were all training adequately. The members of the College were also there, making potions and caring for any injured so everyone was combat-effective for the upcoming siege. Preparations for the journey across Skyrim were being overseen by Isran, as carriages and any supplies they needed were being set up near the Valley's exit.

The Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood had contributed a couple fighters too, at Marcus' behest, but they weren't with the rest of them. It had been agreed that the presence of the more… 'subtle' warriors might disrupt the cohesion of the group, so the latter parties would join the group at the East Coast.

Marcus himself, however, was nowhere to be found. The young man had hardly been seen by anyone for the last two days, ever since he'd come back from the Forgotten Vale with Serana and the bow. He'd made appearances in the evenings, and occasionally at the forge, but apart from that... he was rarely around.

A few of the Companions, and some members of the College, had tried to look for him, just to ask him a few questions, but to no avail. If the young man didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. They figured he just had some things to take care of, and didn't pay it any more mind.

Serana had noted his predominant absence, and had tried to look for him a bit, but her own mind was too wrapped up with mentally preparing herself for the upcoming psychological burdens, so she didn't devote too much time to it. Like many of his friends, Serana figured that Marcus was just simply taking care of some personal business, and would be around when they needed him to be.

At that point in time, Marcus sat alone at the top of Fort Dawnguard, on one of the tower battlements. His legs hung over the edge, swaying about in the wind that rushed off the mountains and into the valley. The view in front of him was gorgeous, and he could pick out any aspect of the commotion below, but his mind was elsewhere.

Marcus' heartrate was a pace too fast, and his stomach was twisted with knots of worry. His nails showed marks from where he'd been picking and chewing at them. He hadn't been sleeping that well, and he'd been practicing with his weapons and magic almost all day in attempts to alleviate the feeling he had.

Marcus knew what this was. He hadn't felt it in a very long time. It was fear.

Fighting his first Dragon hadn't been scary. Once the initial shock and horror of having to face the beast had worn off, Marcus was accepting of his fate. The battle itself had been almost uplifting, finally doing what he was born to do.

Fighting Alduin hadn't been scary. Marcus had prepared for the worst case scenario, he was resigned to whatever fate the Gods had in store for him, and went into battle that fateful day with no regrets or qualms.

Fighting everything else after that point hadn't been scary. He was almost daring the world to finish him off, to throw something evil and powerful enough at him to result in his death, to give him peace.

A Chaurus came close, but they were more 'freaky' than scary, if he was being honest with himself.

But now… Marcus had come across something he couldn't fight. Something he hadn't experienced before.

Marcus was in love with Serana, and he was terrified.

He knew it was love. His heart did all the nauseating calisthenics whenever he saw her, he kept thinking about her when they were separate, and he'd become overcome with anger and grief whenever faced with a situation where she'd been in danger. His mind dwelled on her in almost everything it did, always seemingly coming back to her no matter the thought. All basic things Marcus had read about in countless stories, and heard in countless ballads, and seen in countless other people.

It explained so much of his actions over the last week, it was surprising he hadn't seen it earlier. It'd just snuck up on him, then kicked him in the chest like a horse. But… there almost wasn't anything he could do, or felt that he could do.

Marcus wanted desperately to discern Serana's feelings toward himself, but was so petrified at the thought of actual confrontation he doubted he'd ever actually muster the courage to do it.

 _Ironic, really._ Marcus thought to himself. _I'd charge at monsters anyone else would flee from any day, yet I'm paralyzed at the notion of something the majority of people my age have already dealt with._

He couldn't seek help. Anyone he knew would give him the same answer: "Just go tell her."

Stupid answer. He couldn't do that. The risk was just too great. The more likely answer was that she'd say no, and then that'd prove to be the death knell for their entire relationship. Every conversation, or interaction from that point onward would be tainted with the knowledge of the unreciprocated feelings, and the awkwardness that inevitably followed would mean they could never again have the friendship they had now. Losing such a thing would probably push him back to the brink of insanity that'd taken him so long to escape from.

Marcus wasn't stupid, he knew Serana cared about him. But he also knew he was pretty much the only person in her life that'd actually been nice to her, so it was very likely she just cared about him as the only friend she's ever had.

So it was more likely that if he ever confessed, Serana wouldn't feel the same way. It was almost painfully obvious. Marcus knew he was a fucking mess, in so many ways. He looked in the mirror the other day and saw a fleck of blood in his hair. The fact that he had no idea what creature it had come from only exacerbated the problem it had revealed.

He'd never been outstandingly handsome, and weeks upon weeks of time spent alone in dungeons and the wild meant his appearance had become more… like what Borgahk had said: Feral.

Plus, with Serana, he'd shared so many of his personal troubling thoughts. He'd voiced his concerns about his own purpose, his sadnesses at losing friends, and the other despairing existential feelings that came as a result of the Gods meshing together the personality of a Dragon and the personality of an introverted young man. Moping was a pretty big warning flag for most women, he knew, so he doubted he'd impressed the vampire girl in that regard.

And in a horrid twist of fate, it'd been because Marcus had confided so much in Serana that he loved her so much. She'd heard him out, helped him through it, and told him what he needed to hear. More than that, she'd made him believe it. Her words had removed such a dark part in his mind, it was amazing how bright everything had seemed afterward.

Serana was everything Marcus needed. When she hugged him, it was like every piece of his broken, crappy life just squeezed back together. Thinking about how much he cared for her, how much he wanted to thank her, how much he wanted to be with her, nearly made him cry. It was… pathetic. Yet another reason why Serana wouldn't want to be with him, no doubt.

He hated the sensation, he hated that the thoughts rushing through his head. They were so… uncharacteristic. It made him feel like some angsty teen, moping about how the girl down the street would never love him. Yet, despite how much Marcus realized his life had no place for such feelings, they just wouldn't go away. They were just so irrationally strong. What had made the relationship he had with Serana so different to his housecarls, or the dozens of other girls he'd met over Skyrim?

They were all pretty, they were all friendly, and if Marcus was being honest with himself, most of them were already infatuated with him. Why had he fixated so much on the one woman that was most certain to not return his feelings?

 _Because you're so similar,_ a little voice told him, in his head.

Marcus frowned, mentally constructing a suitably derisive humanoid form of that little voice and then mentally incinerating it with a spell. It made him feel a bit better, even if he knew the voice was right.

Not for the first time, he wondered if all this introspection he did was actually worthwhile. Had thinking about his problems to such depth ever solved them? He couldn't remember.

So there he was. Staring blankly out at the landscape while a raging storm of feelings he couldn't deal with tore him apart from the inside. Paralyzed with fear, doubt, and cliché sighing, Marcus didn't know what to do, and didn't know how to find out.

Isran was going to muster the Dawnguard and the forces Marcus had gathered tomorrow, then they would travel for the next few days and assault Castle Volkihar early in the morning after whenever they arrived at the coast. Right when Marcus could really use some mental clarity, he was further from it than he'd ever been in his life.

There was nothing for it. Marcus sighed out for the millionth time, and climbed off the wall. He gave the sky a glance, as if to wonder if the Gods would grace him with any wisdom, then continued across the battlements towards the stairs leading downward.

He couldn't control whatever happened in the coming days. His life had shown him just how little he was in control of his fate. So all he could do, was wait, and hope for the best.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Reading all your thoughts and advice on the lemon chapter is great, as I always enjoy hearing everyone's thoughts, but it's also pointed out to me that I can't please everyone, no matter what I do, and no matter how much I might like to. Right now, I'm stuck between writing the first, less-heavy half of the lemon chapter, which I'm confident I can do, then 'off-screening' the rest of it, as it were. The other choice is to double-down and attempting to write the whole thing, which would result in a more complete experience, but there's no telling how cringey/good it might end up being.**

 **Dunno why I'm writing this. I think I just needed to air my thoughts. The AN are basically where I can put my own reviews of this story, I guess.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	48. Dawnguard: Chapter 10

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Chapter 10 – The Champions of Mortals

Marcus ran his eyes over the carriage. It was loaded up with spare weapons, food, and a few crates of miscellaneous things. Apparently there would be boats waiting for them when they arrived at the East Coast, ready to take them to Castle Volkihar.

Towards Harkon.

Marcus was uneasy about the fight, not just because he knew what it'd put Serana through, but because he knew Harkon would probably be the single toughest humanoid combatant he'd ever faced. There was no telling how the fight would go.

Not for the first time, Marcus wondered if he'd die in the battle. It was possible. It was always possible in his battles, really. Before he'd joined the Dawnguard, there'd been a few instances when he'd even wanted it to happen, but never really had the strength to see it through.

But now, Marcus didn't want to die. He wanted to die less than he ever had, to be frank. Marcus wanted to spend the rest of his life with Serana, even if that proximity was just under a platonic friendship. If he was dead, they'd probably never meet again, her being a vampire and all.

The thought of never seeing her again made his chest ache. He groaned at the sensation, wishing he didn't have to be repeatedly subject to the same emotional baggage every other person in love did. One would've thought being half-Dragon would reduce the angsty emotions, but all it did was make him reflect on them more.

"Hey."

The familiar soft voice behind him ripped him out of his thoughts and quickened his heart rate. Marcus turned around, and saw Serana walking up behind him.

He smiled warmly. "Hey. How are you holding up?"

"Not bad. The waiting is the toughest part."

"It always is." Marcus sighed, nodding in agreement. "Especially for something as significant as this… it sucks."

"How did you deal with the anticipation before your battle with Alduin?"

Marcus scratched his head, and leaned against the end of the carriage. "I occupied myself with a lot of things. I wrote letters to my friends, warning them I'd probably never be coming back, and spent a lot of time creating my new weapons and armour. Oh, that reminds me..."

Marcus reached behind him and pulled out a dagger, still in its sheathe. He stepped forward and held it out to her. "This is yours. I made it along with my own replacement."

The dagger was Dragonbone, only slightly different to Marcus' regular broad-bladed one. This one had a slightly thinner, longer blade, of the exact same weight and length as Serana's old dagger, meaning she wouldn't have to take any time to get 'adjusted' to the feel of the new weapon.

Serana, wide-eyed, drew the weapon, feeling how balanced it felt, and how snugly the handle fit into her hand. The edge gleamed dully, with the look of a perfectly new blade.

"I..." Serana looked stunned. "I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything," Marcus shrugged. "I'm technically responsible for chucking your old dagger of a cliff, along with Vyrthur, so this was the least I could do."

She attached the weapon to her waist, and smiled up at him. "You don't have to act so damn humble, you know."

Marcus just shrugged again. He found himself staring at her, examining every detail on her face. She frowned at his sudden silent interest in her features. He tore his gaze away.

"I'm going to go see if Isran needs any more help." Marcus coughed quietly, his face turning a shade red. "By the look of things we'll be leaving in a few hours. If there's anything you want to do before we go, now's the chance."

Serana looked at him with a strange expression, as though his choice of words had brought something to the front of her mind she was hesitant in thinking about. Then the look faded, and Marcus walked past her up to the Fort, not trusting himself to not do something embarrassing if he stayed in her company any longer.

* * *

Isran had called everyone into the main hall of the Dawnguard. He stood up on a table and spoke to them all in a loud, commanding voice. Marcus leaned against a wall, in the shadows, up the back. It was hard for him to be inconspicuous in his full Dragonbone plate armour, but no-one was looking in his direction anyway.

"Everyone! Gather 'round!" Isran called out. The members of the Dawnguard, and everyone else Marcus had assembled crowded closer together.

Isran continued. "For too long we've allowed these vampires to poison the night and kill our people! Now, we finally have the means to strike back! We now have Auriel's Bow. The Gods themselves had favoured us and we must answer with action! The time has come to put an end to Harkon and his unholy prophecy. We will march on their lair and destroy those wretched abominations so they can no longer corrupt our world! This is our fight, and this is our fate!"

Isran raised a fist to the air. "This is the time of Mortals!"

Everyone in the room cheered, raising their fists and weapons to the air, filling it with clamour and a nerve-tingling sense of euphoria. Marcus stayed still, though a smile broke out under his helm. He'd never been one for rousing speeches. He was too in-tune with how the battles actually went for any strong words to sway his mind. But still, it was nice to see everyone so determined. It gave him hope, however dangerous a drug it might be.

Everyone began filing outside. Marcus made his way to one of the carriages. He sat in one of the spaces not occupied by equipment or supplies, and leaned back, staring up at the sky. A few minutes later he heard the sound of someone moving onto the carriage.

"I forgot how intimidating you looked in that armour."

Marcus looked down. Vilkas was sitting opposite him.

Marcus chuckled. "Yeah, well. If you make the enemy think he's lost before the fight's even started, he's usually right."

Vilkas nodded, and thought for a minute. "I know you've probably got a lot on your mind, but I wanted to ask something. That 'Serana'. Do you trust her?"

Marcus didn't hesitate. "With my life."

Vilkas didn't look convinced. "You're asking her to fight against her family and the people she's known for hundreds of years. You've known her for around 2 months. Do you think she's got what it takes?"

Marcus looked down at his hands. Familial ties were a tricky thing to predict. His personal experience certainly didn't help. "I..." He took a deep breath. "I believe that Serana will do the right thing. She's… a much better person than I, and I have no doubt her heart is on the right side of this fight."

"Is that something you want to believe, or something you know to be true?"

"Both."

Vilkas sighed. "Well, I trust you, if not her. Hopefully you won't lead us all to our deaths."

"Believe me, Vilkas, Serana is going to be the least of your worries once we reach Castle Volkihar."

Vilkas chuckled, but didn't say anything more. He stood up and climbed off the carriage, his metal boots crunching against the ground as he walked off. Marcus watched him go, then laid back and stared up at the sky again.

His dark thoughts, as if they'd been waiting in a corner of his mind for this moment, jumped out to play.

Exactly how many vampires would there be at Castle Volkihar? The ones he'd seen just on his previous visit almost certainly weren't the total number, and there'd probably be a load of thralls in addition. Maybe even a small army's worth. Would he be leading his friends to their deaths by asking them to come along? It's not exactly as if this wasn't their fight, but he didn't want to force them into anything. How many of them would die? How many friends would he have to bury by the week's end?

The force they'd accumulated was substantial, but Marcus would be kidding himself if he considered the average Dawnguard soldier to be equal to a seasoned, century-old vampire. Those he'd brought mightn't be enough to pick up the slack.

 _It's war, h_ e told himself, _People die. It happens._

 _That's no excuse,_ a part of his mind told him. _Their deaths could be prevented, if you'd lift more of the weight yourself._

Marcus frowned. _This isn't my burden alone, this is a fight for every mortal._

 _You fight **for** mortals. You shoulder the burden so they don't. That's your purpose._

Marcus closed his eyes. _That's not -_

"You ok?" Serana's voice cut through his thoughts. The darkness slunk back to the shadows of his mind.

Marcus opened his eyes and looked up. She stood there, at the end of the carriage, features etched with concern. His own face must've looked rather troubled.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Or at least… um… would you mind sitting here, for a second?"

Serana looked surprised, but pleasantly so. She climbed up into the back of the carriage and sat opposite him, waiting expectantly with a smile. "What's on your mind?"

Marcus took a hesitant breath. "Do you… How hard do you think this fight is going to be? Removing Harkon from the picture, do you think getting inside the castle is going to be… costly?"

Serana looked at him for a moment. "You're worried about losing people, aren't you?"

He breathed out heavily. "I… yes. I don't want another situation like Erik."

Serana looked thoughtful for a moment, studying his face intently. Marcus felt a token nervous under her gaze. He hated the sensation.

She said, "Death in battle isn't a bad way to go, and I have no doubt the fallen will receive plenty or renown from the ballads the coming fight will almost certainly create."

"What if we don't win?" Marcus said quietly. "What if all these people die, and we can't even finish this?"

She said, "I don't think that's going to happen. I don't think you're going to let it."

"What do you mean?"

Serana smiled again, with a more a determined expression. "If I've learnt anything… anything at all… about the kind of person you are, it's that there is nothing you can't achieve if you set your mind to it. You're just too determined to lose. You don't play by the same rules as anyone else. We're going to win this, kill the bad guys, and have plenty more adventures together."

Marcus felt himself smile, and the tension in his shoulders vanished. He once again found himself thinking on just how perfectly she managed to tell him the words he needed to hear.

Marcus stood up, nodding to himself. "Alright. Screw all this waiting. I'm going to find something to help with."

"That's the spirit." Serana stood up, and went with him.

* * *

Castle Volkihar could be seen in the distance. There wasn't much fog, thankfully. Marcus could see the imposing structure in the distance, but couldn't discern whether there were people massing on the outside or not. It doesn't matter. They'd be seen as soon as the boats were launched anyway.

Isran moved up behind him. "You sure these shadowy assassins can be trusted?"

Marcus groaned. "Jeez, can you people stop second-guessing my friends? They're loyal to me, ok? And right now, you're in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth."

Isran grumbled something under his breath, then looked up at the castle. "They're going to see us coming, you know. There'll be plenty of time for them to pepper the boats with magic and arrows."

"Yeah, I'm working on that," Marcus said, scratching his head. "I've got another trick up my sleeve. Two, actually."

"Like what?"

Marcus just grinned. "You'll see."

There were three boats, of standard size, that would transport everyone to the island. There was no real order to whomever got loaded into which boat, everyone sort of mingled together, assuming they'd be able to gather themselves when they landed. Marcus wasn't so sure.

As everyone was just about ready, Marcus walked a little way away, towards a larger open space not occupied with soldiers or trees. He took a deep breath and shouted.

"Odahviing!"

The shout echoed into the sky, fading from earshot after a second.

Serana frowned. "What was that?"

"Backup," Marcus replied, turning back and looking up at the sky. A roar filled the air a few seconds later. A few of the gathered Dawnguard members stopped what they were doing and looked up at the heavens with worried expressions. They murmured amongst each other.

"Did you hear that?"

"What was the shout he used?"

"Sounded like a Dragon..."

Over the mountain in the distance, a dark silhouette descended from the clouds. It gained more distinction as it approached, revealing a large red Dragon.

Agmaer was one of the first to panic. "Divines save us!" He cried. "Dragon!"

Many others shared his reaction.

"Everyone, take cover!"

"Get into the water!"

Marcus turned and raised an eyebrow at the commotion he'd caused. "Relax! He's friendly."

As if to prove Marcus' point, Odahviing circled the landing once, then landed with a loud crunch near the shoreline, a short distance from the boats. Almost everyone, except those that knew Marcus very well, had their weapons drawn. Their eyes never left the huge red beast.

Odahviing regarded his surroundings cooly, running an inquisitive eye over the assortment of troops and the boats. He then turned his huge red head to face the Castle off in the distance.

"Hi yah wah krif Diil. Dovahkiin?" Odahviing rumbled in his deep voice. "I wondered when this day would come."

"Geh, Odahviing," Marcus nodded. "May I count on your assistance, at least until these boats reach the opposite shore?"

The great red Dragon bowed his head. "Hin krif los dii. Of course."

"Much obliged," Marcus bowed in return, then faced a little way away. If Odahviing scared the Dawnguard, they definitely wouldn't like this next one. He breathed in deep.

"Durnheviir!"

A huge dark outline appeared on the ground, swirling with black and purple magic. It gradually gained more definition, revealing a huge, mottled-green Dragon, just as big as Odahviing. There were more cries of alarm from the Dawnguard. Even a few of the Companions were shocked.

Durnheviir regarded the commotion he'd caused with a small grin, then turned to face Marcus. "Kogaan, Qahnaarin. Once again you bestow me the gift of experiencing this world."

"You mightn't have much time for appreciating today," Marcus said, with an apologetic smile.

The Dragon glanced again at the troops gathered, and the boats. "Ah. Aan Kein? It has been long since I have taken part in such a battle. My voice is yours."

Marcus thanked the old Dragon, who then stomped over to Odahviing. The two Dovah regarded each other carefully, neither saying a word. There seemed to be a modicum of tension in the air. Then, as if they'd taken their measure of each other, they bowed their heads as a sign of mutual respect and turned back to await instruction from the Dragonborn.

Marcus found himself a reasonably large boulder and climbed up onto it. Isran had done a fine job delivering a rousing speech, but they needed more than bravado to win something like this. They needed a basic battle plan, which everyone seemed to agree he should give.

"Ok, everyone!" He called out, gathering their attention. "I want to save my voice for killing things, so I'm only going to go over this once."

Everyone looked up at him, and crowded closer together, almost anxious to hear what he had to say.

"First order of business is taking the beach. If my intuitions are correct, they'll fire arrows and spells at us as we approach. My two kin here are going to assist us with that, so just keep your heads down and get to the beach as fast as possible."

Everyone glanced at the two huge Dragons. On their side, they'd be a force to be reckoned with, for sure.

Marcus continued. "Once we take the beach, we'll fight up towards the bridge, and into the Castle." He turned to the College mages. "Tolfdir and Colette, I want you two to stay in the boats, and care for any injured we accumulate. They're pretty large things, so they should give you cover and relative quiet. Farkas and Vilkas – you two make sure they're left in peace... Discourage the curious... The rest of you will need to clear out the interior, which is going to be the toughest part by far."

Marcus took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Don't go charging off after any vampires you see, stick in groups of three or four. Do **not** make the mistake of thinking you're a match for a single vampire. Use your numbers and your training to counteract their speed, and try to close the distance as best you can. If you can, take any wounded outside to the boats."

"Vampires will tend to stick up the back of a fight, sending thralls as meatshields while they attack with spells. Use your crossbows, and don't stop moving. If you hesitate, or falter for even a second, you're as good as dead. The primary target is Harkon, but if my assumptions are correct he'll be staying out of the fighting initially, so odds are you won't see him until the latter half of the battle, if we make it that far."

Marcus paused, running through the list of things in his mind he'd wanted to mention. He was pretty sure that was it.

But everyone still looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for some final thing. The knot to tie off his speech. They looked to him for a final piece of guidance… a few words of the uplifting nature. It seems Isran's speech hadn't been enough, especially in the face of the imposing castle, and many of those present hadn't heard them anyway. As much as Marcus disliked the notion, the people here looked up to him as a leader, or a savior, or both. His words would go a long way to improving their spirits.

Marcus closed his eyes, gathering some thoughts. _Ok. Time to get motivational._

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. His voice carried over the shoreline. "The next few hours are going to decide the fate of Nirn. The lives of every man, woman and child, from every race, hinge on each one of you. The battle you fight today will decide if their future will be one free from the terrors of the night, or in perpetual fear."

Marcus pointed across the water towards the castle in the distance. "These vampires started a war against us. We're not here just to win it, we're here to make them regret it, to show them exactly what happens when you push mortals too far. They look down on us, see us as animals, as nothing but worms crawling in the dirt. But the proof that they're wrong is right in front of me."

He swept an arm across the gathered mass, gesturing to all of them. "When Isran declared the need to fight, every single one of you stepped up. Though we are about to clash with monsters that plague the nightmares of grown men, not one of you has backed down. Every member of the Dawnguard, every Companion, every College student, every thief, every assassin. You all answered the call. You stand here, side by side with your fellow mortals, bonded through duty and honor."

"And that is something these vampires will never understand. That unity, that silent notion of responsibility is stronger than any weapon, and more powerful than any spell… it can't be taken from us, and can't be killed. An unspoken oath made by all heroes, proclaiming they'd hold back the gates of Oblivion themselves before they'd ever, **ever,** back down!"

Marcus took a step forward and pointed downward "We face this enemy today, lest the whole world crumble… make me proud. Make yourselves proud."

The small army before him erupted with cheers and the mindless roar of assent. Fists were raised, clenched with white knuckles, into the air. Even the reserved assassins and students were vocal.

As the noise died down, everyone began climbing onto the boats. Marcus jumped off the rock and walked up to Serana. She was looking at him with a very flustered expression.

"How'd I do?" He asked.

Serana blinked a few times. "I… I'm not even mortal, and I was inspired."

Marcus grinned. "I must've been good then. Come on, let's go."

They walked onto the boat with the majority of the Companions, and were shortly underway. The water lapped against the side of the boat, as the wind carried them towards their fates. Everyone on Marcus' ship seemed to be in high, invigorated spirits, but the young man himself didn't share the sensation.

After all, no-one had given **him** a rousing speech.

Marcus walked up to the bow of the ship, and squinted at the approaching landmass. It was too far off to make out any real detail. He began pacing the deck, frowning at the wooden floorboards below. The anticipation was terrible.

* * *

"A catapult." Marcus deadpanned. "They've got a catapult."

Serana bit her lip. "That's… not good."

Marcus shook his head slowly. It was worse than 'not good'. It was terrible. They'd be within firing range of that thing for at least 15 minutes, and one good hit would be enough to sink a ship. Already, the plan was falling apart.

The siege device in question was set up on the beach, just next to the large tower. There were many, many figures milling about around it, as well as on the bridge leading up to the castle. Not only would they have to worry about spells and the like, but they'd have to account for giant rocks falling on them. A dragon could intercept a few spells, but not a flying boulder.

In the distance, Marcus saw it fire. A huge rock flew through the air towards them, and splashed into the water a good 60 metres away. He doubted it was intended to hit, but rather to work out the range and accuracy of the weapon, for when they got closer.

Durnheviir and Odahviing seemed to understand the threat the catapult posed, and began descending from up high towards the Castle. They flew over the beach, and rained down magical destruction with their Thu'm. Odahviing breathed a line of fire across the sand, and Durnheviir summoned a cohort of skeletons around the main cluster.

It was a good distraction, and did a fair amount of damage, but at a cost. Even from a distance, Marcus could see the amount of arrows and destruction spells that'd been fired in retaliation to the Dragons' attack. Plenty had missed, but plenty had hit as well.

 _By Akatosh,_ Marcus thought, eyes wide. _There's around a hundred of them over there. Maybe more._

He'd imagined they'd be mostly thralls too, and young vampires. The tougher, older vampires would be inside the castle, waiting.

Marcus knew the two Dragons couldn't keep up enough pressure to guarantee a safe passage for the boats, not without suffering significant wounds. He said he didn't want to lose any friends, and the two giant lizards were included in that. What they really needed was a third distraction, preferably something on the ground. Something flashy and imposing, that could hold that huge group of thralls in one spot… keep them occupied.

A potential idea for what that 'something' could be, popped into his mind.

* * *

Marcus' posture had changed suddenly. His pacing and hunched, worried stature had vanished, replaced with a one of a more resolved, calculating nature. He turned around, and Serana could see his expression had changed too. The worry lines on his face and the troubled concern was gone. His jaw was set firmly, eyes showing the signs of a mind concluded.

"What are you planning?" Serana asked him, a wary look on her face.

"I'm creating a third point of distraction," Marcus explained, walking to the edge of the boat. He took a deep breath.

He shouted across the water, "Odahviing! Bo Zu'u til!"

Serana frowned. "What are you planning, exactly?"

Marcus didn't answer, staring up at the figure of the large red Dragon. He'd changed trajectory, swooping down low across the water's surface towards them. Good. He'd understood. If Marcus was judging it right, Odahviing would pass right in front of the bow of the ship. Maybe a little to the left.

"Marcus!" Serana shouted, concerned at his lack of a response.

He turned to face her, giving her a focused, firm look. The normal Marcus was gone, the warrior had taken over. There was no humorous sparkle in his eyes, just burning determination. "Don't worry about me, just get everyone to the shore as fast as you can. I'll buy us some time."

Then he sprinted past her, running full-pelt at the bow of the ship. He leapt off the boat, pushing off the deck with his left foot, then off the railing with his right. Marcus seemed to hand in the air for a moment, then a blur of red and black rushed past, and he was gone.

Marcus heaved himself onto Odahviing's neck, breathing out in relief. Leaping onto a fast-moving Dragon mightn't have been a particularly smart idea, but he needed to get to the shoreline fast. Plus, he liked a few theatrics.

Odahviing flew upwards, circling around and approaching the Castle again. Marcus could see numerous scratches and markings on the dragon's skin where missiles had struck him. Durnheviir was probably in worse state, as he was still strafing the beach.

Marcus said, "Bring me above the shore, the open area."

The red dragon growled in assent.

Odahviing came down for one last strafe of the bridge. He swooped down and laid down a raging inferno across the bridge, before gaining height as arrows and spells were fired up in retaliation. Marcus felt the Dragon shudder as several of them found their marks. His teeth clenched in anger, and he spun around to face the ground retreating behind him.

Aiming at the catapult, Marcus cupped both of his hands together and channeled as much magicka as his mind could allow him to put into one spell. Which, given his extensive experience, was a lot.

A thunderbolt burst from his hands and arced towards the siege engine, as wide and as bright as a natural lightning bolt.

It lit up the landmass, filling the air with an almighty 'crack'. The catapult exploded into pieces of burning wood, none larger than a metre. Marcus smiled with grim satisfaction, then checked his position above the ground.

Odahviing had circled around again, and was nearly above the centre of the exposed shoreline. A wide open space. Visible from all directions. Perfect.

Marcus breathed in.

"Feim!"

Then he leaned sideways and toppled off the Dragon's neck.

He fell the 50 odd-metres to the ground, and pounded into the earth with the force of a 150 kilogram lump of metal and armoured bone. The impact threw up a cloud of dirt around the area, with a heavy 'smack'. The dirt returned to the ground, revealing Marcus at the centre of a shallow crater of cracked earth.

The Dragonborn stood up to his full height, a faint haze of dust settling around his form. The horned helmet raised up, two burning orbs within staring out at the mass of thralls and vampires in front of him.

The thralls charged after a moment's pause, their eyes wide with mindless rage and obedience. They formed a rushing tide of bodies rushing down the beach to meet the lone figure. The vampires followed after, faces twisted with vindictive smiles. The Dragons were almost forgotten, for a new target had appeared, one they could close to and tear apart in a much more satisfying, personal way.

Marcus watched as the small army charged at him, and reached down to grasp the handles of his weapons. There was dozens. A seething mass of warriors, mages, and vampires… and every single one of them would bring harm to Serana. He drew his sword and dagger in a slow and measured fashion, bringing his arms out wide then down by his side in a single motion.

 _The Gods fear you,_ Marcus told himself, closing his eyes briefly. _Show them why._

His eyes opened, and he threw himself at the encroaching mass.

No magic. No shouts. Just blades and his strength.

There were a few faster runners out front, spaced out. Marcus ducked under the first swing of a thrall, and hacked out their left leg, still moving forward. He raised his dagger and spun around, deflecting a sword thrust from another thrall at his front, before completing the spin and bringing his sword across their throat. He then faced to the side and took a step back, avoiding a battleaxe arcing downward. The man holding it stumbled forward, off-balance, and Marcus cut him down with a strike across the upper back.

He spun around again and raised his sword up, parrying away an axe from a female thrall before lunging forward and burying his dagger into her exposed stomach and wrenching it out sideways. Four thralls dead in three seconds.

Then the rest of the swarm caught up to him, and Marcus was enveloped into the mass of enemies, much to their folly. Conscious thought vanished, replaced with a non-stop primeval roar that seemed to fill his every sense and begged to be unchained further... to rend the flesh from every bone.

The bodies almost fell apart as they got close to him, limbs somehow separating from the torsos of their owners as if they were made of children's blocks. The blood seemed to hang in the air around Marcus, the droplets that felt to the ground being replaced by those spurting from various wounds. The screams never last longer than half a second. They were cut off, the first wound that gave rise to the mindless cry of pain was always followed by a second wound that ensured there wouldn't need to be a third.

Marcus himself was never in one place, always pushing forward, deeper into the mass of enemies. Ducking, dodging, slashing, kicking. He was a veritable demon amongst their ranks, with an insatiable desire for the death of those that had dared stand between him, his duty, and that which he loved.

Those without a direct line of sight on the Dragonborn didn't have a clue what was going on, and those that did were usually a few seconds away from death. The occasional spell and weapon hit his armour, dealing a little damage to the flesh underneath, but adrenaline and fury did away with any impact such things might've had on his combat prowess.

It wasn't a sustainable method of dealing with a small army, but it didn't need to be. All that needed to be done, was keep them in one place.

An unknown amount of time passed. To Marcus, it could've been an hour, or it could've been 5 minutes. Somewhere in the middle of a mass of corpses, he heard a loud series of battle cries, and the flow of the fight around him shifted. He was no longer the immediate concern of the group.

A few moments later, he saw the thralls and lesser vampires move away from him, engaged by a mass of warriors, many of which with familiar faces. The boats had finally landed.

Marcus stood still for the first time in a while, feeling the Dawnguard and many others rush past him, pushing the remaining vampires and thralls back into their Castle. The heavy drawgate slammed shut a second later, leaving the undead inside, and the mortals outside.

The first stage of the battle was over.

Marcus, his blood still burning, forced himself to withdraw from his state of frenzy. He took several deep breaths. A few jabs of pain from a few wounds entered his mind, and he looked down at his state.

Blood and viscera was literally dripping off him, collecting in puddles at his feet. He felt rather… animalistic.

Serana jogged up to him and grasped his shoulders, pulling him upright and checking to see if he was ok. Marcus' armour heaved rhythmically, in sync with his panting breaths.

Serana sighed with relief on seeing him in relative non-harm. "Please don't ever pull a stunt like that again."

Marcus breathed out, then chuckled from inside his helmet. "It worked, didn't it?"

She smiled begrudgingly. "Yeah… I guess it did."

"The gate's closed," Isran walked up behind him, "How are we going to get in?"

Serana frowned. "Give him a moment to rest. The man just took down half an army."

"No, I'm fine," Marcus waved a hand dismissively, accidentally flicking a bit of blood onto Isran's face. He walked up to the gate. It was a rigid, sturdy thing, made of metal. He needed to get it down quickly, as every second gave the vampires inside more time to prepare. He had no time to waste, and thus no time to rest.

"I've run out of patience. Everyone, stand back!" Marcus turned to the sky. "Odahviing! Durnheviir!"

The two dragons descended and hovered above the bridge, their heavy wings sending up clouds of dust.

Marcus gestured with a tilt of his head to the gate. "Give me a hand knocking on this door, would you?"

* * *

The heavy wooden doors to Castle Volkihar exploded inwards, smashed open by an even heavier metal gate being flung into them at great speed. It was a tough entrance to crack, but there wasn't a gate on Nirn that could withstand three Unrelenting Force shouts from experienced Thu'um users.

The thralls that'd survived the exterior battle had been drawn up in a line across the entrance hall, and thus most were promptly crushed under the weight of the doors.

The remaining thralls didn't even get a chance to blink the dust out of their eyes before they were face-to-face with the tip of the spear of the attacking army.

Marcus and Serana.

The pair cut through the remained of the thralls with ease, and sprinted toward the balcony overlooking the Volkihar Great Hall. The rest of the Dawnguard followed shortly after. In the hall, laid out in series of small rows, were the awaiting vampires. Instead of taking the stairs down, Marcus and Serana leapt over the railing and descended down upon the foes below with all the tact and devastation of a meteor.

A volley of ice spikes flew towards them, and instead of attempting a ward spell, Marcus reached out with both hands, and summoned a pair of ice atronachs in front of them. The icy projectiles slammed into the creatures to no effect, leaving Marcus and Serana unscathed.

As they ran forward under the cover of the atronachs, Serana used the opportunity to reach out with both hands and employ a trick her mother had taught her a long time ago. From her fingertips, two reanimation spells shot toward a pair of what appeared to be gargoyle statues on either side of the hall. A second after the magic hit the stone surface, the long-deceased creatures inside burst to life, and exploded out of their confines. Without a moment of hesitation, they leapt at the closest group of enemies and began tearing them to pieces.

Marcus and Serana then charged into the largest group of vampires and began cutting down master and fledgling alike. They'd managed to break the ranks of the waiting vampires, allowing the Dawnguard to get their own proper charge in.

The hall descended into chaos, with clusters of fighting spread all over. Marcus found himself dueling a lightning-fast vampire with a manic, gleeful smile on her face. Her teeth were an off-red colour, as if she'd drunk so much blood it'd stained her mouth.

She feinted for his throat with one dagger, then lunged for his stomach with the other. Marcus saw the move coming and deflected the blade with his sword so it harmlessly struck his armour. She reacted quickly, reversing the direction of the blades and slashing at his neck. Marcus ducked under the blades, then punched her in the mouth with the a gauntleted fist, feeling the vibration of cracking teeth through his palm. The vampire staggered back, clutching her jaw.

Marcus grinned. "How's your own blood taste for a change?"

She didn't give him a clear answer, and instead screamed like a banshee before darting forward with a murderous glare. Marcus dodged to the side, and gripped his sword in both hands. After a brief spin around to gain momentum, he sliced the over-extended vampire in half at the waist as she rushed past. He had just enough time to avoid the splashes of blood before he was engaged by another vampire.

There was too much going on for Marcus to notice who was winning the battle, but he told himself that wasn't the immediate priority. Harkon was in the castle somewhere, and he needed to die. The prophecy, and the threat to the entire world, ended with the vampire lord.

Marcus saw Serana fighting her way to the back of the hall, so he did the same. When he got the chance, he channeled nocturnal's gift, and slunk through the shadows to the area overlooking the Great Hall. As the power wore off, he saw Serana step out of the shadows, and nod toward a set of stairs leading upwards to another section of the castle.

"He'll be up there." Serana said, a cold emphasis on the word 'he'. "It's a shrine to Molag Bal."

Marcus nodded. The sounds of battle seemed to fade away, the quiet giving rise to an air of tension at what was to come. Through the door, would be Harkon. The Dawnguard would be able to handle the rest of the vampires, so when they walked into that chamber, it was going to be won or lost before any of them left it.

"Hey," Marcus said quietly, looking down at the ground. "Before we go in there… I want to say something."

"No." Serana shook her head. "Don't do that to me. Anything you want to say now, you can say later, because we're coming out of this…. Both of us."

He looked up at her, his helmet hiding his expression of deep, forlorn longing. "Serana..."

"We..." Serana hung her head, nodding to herself. "We don't have to say anything right now. There'll be another time." It sounded like she was saying it as much to herself, as to him.

"I… Very well." Marcus nodded. It was probably a good idea. At least one of them needed to keep a clear head.

They walked up the stairs and pushed open the door, entering the chapel to Molag Bal. Harkon was waiting for them, just inside. He clearly hadn't taken part in any fighting yet, his robed armour was immaculate. He stood with a slight slouch, casually, as if an all-out assault on his castle wasn't worth a second thought.

Harkon's face was exactly the same as it'd appeared in Marcus' reflections, and nightmares. Dark hair, broad jawline, piercing orange eyes, and an overflowing tone of cruelty.

"Serana… my darling." His voice dripped with malice "I see you still favor keeping a pet."

Serana clenched her fists. "You know why we're here."

Harkon sighed. "Of course I do. You disappoint me, Serana. You've taken everything I provided for you and thrown it away for this… pathetic being." He gestured to Marcus with disgust.

She took an angry step forward. "Provided for me? Are you insane? You've destroyed our family, killed innocents, and all over some prophecy we barely understand. No more. I'm done with you."

Harkon shook his head, and crossed his arms. "You were always an arrogant child, but I never could've predicted you'd join the enemy."

"Marcus has given me everything, while you've only ever taken things away." Serana grated, taking another step toward Harkon, putting herself between him and Marcus. "You will **not** touch him!"

Harkon chuckled. "Ah. I see this Dragon has fangs. Your voice drips with the venom of your mother's influence. How alike you've become."

"No. Because unlike her, I'm not afraid of you. Not anymore."

Harkon ignored her, and took steps toward Marcus. "And you..."

Serana stepped forward to stop him, but Marcus placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Easy Serana," he said. "Let him speak. I want to see if he starts begging."

Serana glared at her father, but let Marcus pass. Harkon stopped a few metres from him, and raised a hand to his chin with a thoughtful, yet angry look.

Harkon said, "It appears I have you to thank for turning my daughter against me. I knew after she left it'd only be a matter of time before she'd return with hatred in her heart."

"Hatred, born of your neglect." Marcus spat.

Harkon almost shrugged. "A small price to pay for the betterment of our kind."

"The betterment of your kind, to the expense of every other. To the expense of your own daughter's life. You're sick."

Harkon rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, always the noble vampire hunter. And what happens when you've slain me? Is valerica next? Is Serana?"

"Never. Serana is… too important to me."

Serana glanced sideways at him, a hint of surprise creeping onto her furious face.

Harkon sighed with disappointment. "Then my daughter is truly lost. She died the moment she accepted something as pathetic as a mortal into her life."

Marcus glared at him. "Not entirely mortal, asshole, and I think it's about time I showed you how."

"Yes, quite. I've grow weary of talking to you and my traitorous daughter. I'll give you one chance to turn the bow over to me. There will not be a second."

Marcus drew his sword, staring him in the eyes. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the bow on his back. "Come and get it."

Harkon sneered. "Very well then, you leave me no choice. Come meet your death!"

Harkon drew his sword, a long, curved katana of black metal similar in design to the kind the Blades use, and lunged at Marcus. The young man raised his own sword up above his head to block the incoming vampire's attack. The two weapons struck each other above them, filling the air with the loud clash of two unearthly weapons colliding. Then Harkon kicked Marcus in the chest, knocking him backwards.

Then all three fighters charged, meeting in the centre of the chamber and clashing with a blur of weapons and magic.

The pair fought the vampire lord for a long time, duelling all around the chamber. Harkon fought with the measured movements of someone who'd done this thousands of times before, and it was clear the only reason why he wasn't winning was because he was outnumbered. Every fireball Marcus threw at him, in between a frenzy of parries, thrusts, and slashes, didn't seem to do much. He got the impression the armour was a lot more effective than it looked.

And in between every attack Marcus made, Serana made two. She fought harder than he'd ever seen anyone fight before, with speed and fluidity he didn't know was possible. With a clenched jaw and a look of unwavering determination she threw herself again and again at her father, her arms always occupied with making an attack, be it with a spell or her blade.

But still, Harkon didn't waver. His sword was everywhere, blocking, parrying, and absorbing spells. It was like it had a mind of its own, finding every gap or weak spot in Marcus and Serana's defense, and shooting toward it like a hawk descending onto a rabbit. Every successful hit, regardless of how much damage it did, drained Marcus' strength from his body. His energy was beginning to leave his limbs, with less force behind each swing of his sword and every spell being a bit less brighter than the last.

It occurred to him, as he ducked under a spell and vaulted over a railing to get closer to Harkon, that this was the Vampire Lord's plan. A defensive strategy that'd leave them both with little strength left and an accumulation of wounds that only served to rejuvenate himself. As such, he had a weapon perfectly suited to that exact technique.

 _Ok,_ Marcus thought to himself. _Time to get unorthodox._

He deliberately slowed down his attacks, acting as if he was tired. After each swing, he took a fraction of a second longer to withdraw the weapon. Not enough to give Harkon a serious opening, but enough to make the vampire think he was weakening. He drew his dagger too, and began using that in the duel, to make Harkon think he was out of magicka.

It worked, in a sense. Harkon must've figured now was the time to take Marcus out of the equation completely, so he fired a series of lightning bolts at Serana to push her back, then turned to face Marcus.

The young man deliberately overextended with a dagger thrust, aiming for Harkon's chest and exposing a particular section of his waist. Harkon side-stepped the attack easily and took the bait. He was an impressive fighter, but he was arrogant. The dark blade darted forward, as fast as a snake's tongue, and cut through the ebony chainmail underneath one of Marcus' armour plates, sinking several centimetres into the flesh underneath.

But Marcus had traded the wound for something he didn't know before. He knew the exact location of an unarmoured part of Harkon's body, and when it'd be exposed. Harkon's wrist. Marcus brought his sword up and down in an instant, aiming to slice off the hand, and the blade it was holding.

But Harkon was fast, he saw the incoming danger and pulled his arm back quickly. Marcus' weapon didn't hit flesh, but rather the sword itself as it was pulled backward.

With a sound akin to glass shattering, Marcus' dragonbone sword cleaved through the black metal blade, cutting it off close to the hilt and leaving only about 4 inches of a broken blade left. Harkon stepped back quickly, glancing down at his ruined weapon. He growled in annoyance, and tossed it aside.

"Fine. If you wish for a painful death… I will grant it to you."

He began to convulse, clutching at his chest. Marcus' eyes went wide, and he sprinted toward the figure before what he knew what was happening transpired, sword raised. He wasn't fast enough.

Harkon's body wrapped itself in blood, before it exploded outwards and revealed the intimidating form of a vampire lord. Harkon had just enough time to raise his arms out wide and roar at the ceiling, before Marcus reached him and buried his sword in the creature's stomach.

The vampire lord's skin was very tough, so the blade didn't sink to the hilt, but it did a fair amount of damage, and Harkon roared in pain as the blood trickled out of the wound. Marcus wrenched the weapon out and danced backward, avoiding the retaliatory swipe from Harkon's claws.

Serana came up behind Marcus, eyes narrowing at her father's form. "Too scared to face us human, father?"

He growled in response, and with a flap of his wings charged forward once more. Serana and Marcus each dodged to a different side, then ran forward to flank him. Fighting Harkon in this form was harder, but they got the impression is was manageable. Every strike wasn't healed a few seconds later, and Harkon's claws had less range than his sword. His spells however, had grown much more potent, as they were about to discover.

Marcus ducked under a claw, and slashed at Harkon's ribs, before feeling something smash into his back. He went tumbling to the ground, feeling the pain of having had claws dig into his back. Before he'd even stopped sliding, he flipped over onto his hands and feet in a low crouch, seeing what'd attacked him. A gargoyle. Harkon must've summoned it.

A cry to his left alerted him that Serana was in trouble. His head shot sideways, seeing Serana fighting off a group of skeletons emerging from the piles of bones in the corners of the chapel, while dodging spells Harkon fired at her from a levitating position. Marcus' teeth clenched, and he gripped his sword tighter.

Reaching out with one hand, Marcus channeled a substantial amount of magicka and summoned a storm atronach to deal with the Gargoyle, before charging at Harkon. Serana could deal with a few skeletons, as long as the pressure was taken off her.

The young man gripped his dagger and hurled it overarm at Harkon, trying to get his attention. The dragonbone blade spun through the air and embedded itself right under his right wing. The vampire grunted in pain, then turned to face Marcus with his left hand curling with blood-red magic. He splayed his hand out, launching a blood-red orb at Marcus.

Marcus rolled to the side, feeling the floor rumble as the red magic exploded where he'd stood moments before. He took a deep breath and shouted at the floating figure as soon as he was back on his feet.

"Fus… Ro Dah!"

The blue energy burst out from Marcus for the second time that day, rushing through the air and striking Harkon in the centre of his body. The vampire lord was launched backward through the air, and smacked into the stone wall opposite before sinking to the floor.

Marcus swallowed the bitter, acidic taste in the back of his throat. He'd used a lot of shouts today. He'd have to use a few more, no doubt, before this was over.

Marcus charged at Harkon as he was recovering, and landed another few lucky slashes before Harkon fired another orb of red magic and he was knocked backward. Before he could recover, Marcus felt the grip of paralytic magic around his skin. He fought against it, but it overpowered him and he was frozen. Worse, he couldn't breathe.

Marcus felt himself get pulled upwards, and dragged towards Harkon, who had his left arm outstretched with a dark orange glow swirling around his clawed fingertips. When Marcus was within a metre of Harkon, he stopped pulling and raised Marcus up to eye height.

"Painful isn't it?" Harkon sneered. "Do you regret your choice yet?"

Marcus didn't answer, he couldn't. Serana did, though.

She shouted from across the room, "Do you?!"

Then an icy spear the size of a cartwheel struck Harkon in the left shoulder with a meaty smack. He roared in pain, and dropped Marcus. The young man raked in one good breath, and immediately exhaled it as an inferno.

"Yol, Tor Shul!"

A blaze of fire exploded out of Marcus and crashed into Harkon. At point blank range, the vampire was scorched deeply by the flames. The air suddenly smelt strongly of burnt flesh. With another roar of pain, and anger, Harkon blasted him in the chest with a red orb of magic and knocked him backwards. Marcus tumbled across the floor, but flipped up onto his feet before he'd even stopped moving.

Harkon reached up and ripped out the dagger in his shoulder, before tossing it across the floor. He panted heavily, bristling with fury. Marcus reached out with one hand and used telekinesis to return his dagger to his hand, and sheathed it.

Marcus and Serana charged at Harkon, as he charged at them, for the second time that day. They all looked a fair bit more tired, but they moved with angry determination. Marcus reached Harkon first and instantly dropped to a kneeling position to dodge a clawed hand swinging at his head, then slashed sideways at vampire and opened up a deep cut on his stomach about 30 centimetres across. Harkon grunted in pain and staggered back.

Serana ran up behind Marcus and used his kneeling body as a ramp to leap up and grapple around Harkon's shoulders, climbing onto his back and plunging her dagger into his thick neck over and over again. Harkon roared in pain, reaching up and grabbing her with both arms. He heaved her overhead and threw her at the ground near his feet. She struck the stone hard, with a painful groan.

Harkon raised a foot to crush her further into the floor, but a thunderbolt spell from Marcus interrupted him before he got the chance. The vampire lord staggered backwards again, his breathing growing hoarser. He glared at Marcus with uncontrolled fury, all vestiges of his pretentious manner gone.

"Enough of this!" Harkon shouted. He raised both hands up and summoned a pair of gargoyles on either side of Serana's prone body, then used his wings to propel himself forward and slammed into Marcus.

Knocking the young man to the floor, Harkon began ripping and tearing at the figure beneath him with a mad frenzy. His claws scratched at the armour, the chainmail, and the straps and buckles holding it all together. Sections of the dragonplates began to get torn off, and thrown across the room. Marcus tried to get out of the position, but the vampire was just too heavy. Serana was busy fighting the gargoyles, so he knew she wouldn't be able to help.

As Harkon tore off one of the main breastplates, Marcus decided to just double-down on offense rather than a futile defense. Bringing his arms underneath him, he blasted Harkon full in the chest with a non-stop gout of fire. Harkon was forced off of him, flailing backwards under the unbearable bright heat. As soon as Marcus felt his magicka begin to dwindle, he stopped casting and picked up his sword again.

Harkon began to run forward, but a pair of lightning bolts from Serana slammed into him, and twisted him sideways. She'd dealt with the gargoyles quickly.

Taking the initiative, Marcus darted forward and brought his sword down with both hands at Harkon's figure. The vampire managed to dodge somewhat out of the way, but one of his wings lagged behind, and was promptly cleaved off as it interfered with the unstoppable downward path of the Dragonbone blade.

Harkon screamed at the ceiling as blood sprayed from the stump on his back, then exploded into a cluster of bats that flew towards the space directly above the altar of Molag Bal. He reformed with an arm outstretched, raising up a black and red semi-transparent sphere of energy around him.

Serana ran up, breathing heavily. Her hair was erratic, and one of her arms was dripping blood. "He's using the shine to heal himself!" She cried. "The bow! Use the bow!"

Marcus sheathed his sword and took the bow from his back. Nocking one of the arrows Gelebor had given him, he took aim and fired in the space of a second.

The golden projectile flew across the chamber and hit with the sphere before exploding with a small, soft glow. The light it had created spread across the surface of the sphere, seemingly battling with the darker energies, until they enveloped the sphere, and the whole front half of the chamber seemed to explode with light and the sound of cracking stone.

Marcus fell to his knees, feeling bits of rubble blast past him, and into him. He shut his eyes tight and waited for the world to stop shaking. When he opened them, he saw the state of the chapel. The entire back wall blown apart, letting in the sunlight from outside. Rocks and sections of wall laid strewn about the room. Clearly, firing off a weapon of pure radiant energy in a place of such dark magic hadn't caused a subtle reaction.

Marcus glanced around for Serana, and saw her lying unconscious under a large piece of rock. She wasn't being crushed, but was clearly trapped. She was also hurt. He couldn't see the state of the rest of her body, but there was a cut on her forehead that was steadily bleeding and covering much of her face with crimson. The sight nearly broke his heart. At the other side of the room he saw a dazed Harkon slowly getting to his feet. Just behind Harkon was the hole to the outside, bright light streaming in.

He needed to move the fight away from Serana. He needed to protect her. He also needed to weaken Harkon.

Marcus reached to the side, and pulled his dagger out. He stole one last glance at the girl he loved, then breathed in shakily. His throat ached, but he had enough in him for one last good shout. He stood up and faced Harkon, holding the small blade out in front of him.

"Wuld… Nah Kest!"

Marcus shot across the room and slammed into Harkon, pushing his dagger into the vampire lord's chest with enough force to bury it to the hilt and throw both of them backwards over the edge of the hole in the wall.

They tumbled out into the bright light, each foe momentarily blinded. They slammed into something hard and Marcus felt his dagger get ripped out of Harkon's chest, separating the two figures. Then they fell for what felt like a long time, and Marcus slammed into an outcrop of the lower roof before tumbling over it and falling some more. Pain shot through his left arm, indicating it was broken, and thus his dagger fell loosely from his grip. Then they hit the ground with two heavy smacks.

* * *

Serana woke with a start, heaving in a breath of dusty air. She looked around and saw the state of the chapel, with huge chunks of stone and other pieces of the back wall lying strewn about the place. One such piece of rubble had fallen across her, trapping her legs and restricting movement from the waist down. She raised both arms and pushed at the stone, but it barely budged.

Footsteps echoed through the chamber.

Serana twisted about, and saw three vampires approaching her from the direction of the Hall. Garan, Orthjolf and Vingalmo. Their bodies showed signs of heavy fighting. She didn't know if they were retreating, or had come to assist their lord because the Dawnguard was retreating.

Serana heaved at the stone block, and managed to shift it slightly to the side, but she was still stuck. She knew she was in a very compromising position, and also knew she didn't have enough magicka left to kill all three of them outright.

She glanced around for anything she could use to defend herself. In the explosion her dagger must've flown from her grasp, so it was nowhere to be seen. Anger broiled in her chest at the realisation. That dagger was a gift from Marcus, and while she knew he could make another, she hated the fact she'd lost it.

"Ah, Serana..." sighed Garan as he came near and saw her. A grin broke out on his face as he saw her trapped position. "Always the entitled child. I should've known you'd turn against us in this. You never could see past your own wants, could you?"

Serana heaved at the large piece of rock again. It budged a tiny bit more. Not enough. She shook her head, breathing heavily. "He's insane, Garan. This prophecy leads you all to nothing but your deaths."

"You're hardly an unbiased source of information." Vingalmo sneered.

Orthjolf nodded in agreement. "When the prophecy comes to pass, vampires will become the true rulers of this world. We have nothing to lose, but everything to gain."

Serana glared at them. "You have your lives to lose..."

Garan barked in laughter and drew his sword, pointing it at Serana's throat. "Harkon is no doubt maiming that pet human of yours as we speak, and the Dawnguard are occupied, so no help's coming. Surrender, Serana."

"Never." She spat.

"Is the future of our race not worth this sacrifice? Is it not worth one single life?"

Serana looked down at the floor, panting heavily. She was tired. Exhaustion sucked at her limbs. It'd be so easy to give up, to just lie down and let fate claim her. An image of Marcus drifted through her mind. A soft smile on his face that seemed to chase the weakness from her limbs.

"It **never** stops at one." Serana looked up, defiance growing in her eyes. Her voice turned to a low growl. "I'll kill you all…"

She pushed at the rubble one last time, with as much strength as she could muster. The huge piece of stone lifted off her legs and she darted out from under it.

"What in Oblivion..." Vingalmo muttered. The three vampires drew their weapons and moved to attack her.

Serana pushed off the ground and summoned a bound dagger into each of her hands using the last of her magicka. She launched herself at the three vampires with bitter fury.

Orthjolf was first. She slashed him across the throat with one dagger as he raised his axe and plunged the other into his chest. A line of blood sprayed across her face. She kicked him in the knees and as the Nord hunched over she pulled the daggers away and rolled across his back, kicking Garan across the face as her legs spun through the air.

Serana ducked under a swing from Vingalmo's sword, then sprinted forward and plunged both daggers into Garan's chest and lifted him up by the hilts, gravity serving to drive the blades deeper inside the man's flesh as his feet were lifted off the ground. As Vingalmo approached from the side, she turned and hurled the bleeding body at him, ripping the blades out as she did so.

Vingalmo dodged to the left to avoid the body, and raised his sword to block one of Serana's daggers. But Serana had two, and he couldn't do anything about the second as it sliced open his stomach. With grim satisfaction, she switched the blade to a sabre-grip and stabbed him in the heart.

Vingalmo dropped to floor, not 5 seconds after Orthjolf had done the same.

 _Half-breeds,_ Serana thought with a dismissive huff, before discarding both bound daggers.

With them taken care of, she now needed to find Marcus. But with no magicka left Serana knew she'd need a permanent weapon. Taking Vingalmo's or Garan's sword was tempting, but she wasn't used to the larger weapons, and right now wasn't the time to experiment with a new combat style. The only thing similar to a dagger that wasn't buried under rubble was the remains of Harkon's sword. She doubted the enchantment would still work, but it'd have to do.

She ran over and grabbed the damaged weapon, then sprinted out of the chapel to find Marcus.

* * *

Marcus gasped in agony as he came to, feeling a thousand sensations shoot through his brain as multiple parts of his body screamed at him with the mindless noise of pain. His vision pulsed with darkness as his brain tried repeatedly to send him unconscious, but the adrenaline and fire running through his veins wouldn't allow it.

His left arm was broken, and one of his kneecaps was shattered. Worse, Marcus couldn't breathe. One of his ribs had broken in an awkward position and had punctured a lung. Fingers scrabbling at the dirt, Marcus channeled the remainder of his magic through him in an attempt to heal such wounds.

The bones in his chest clicked, and he felt breath return to his body, but his leg and arm stayed broken. He'd had less magicka left than he'd thought.

There was the sound of movement to his left. Marcus twisted his head sideways and saw Harkon, slowly getting to his feet.

The vampire lord was in a better state than Marcus, but not by much. His one remaining wing was bent at an irregular angle, his legs had shards of stone stuck in them, and his torso was a mesh of gashes and ruptured flesh, the white of a collarbone visible poking out near his neck.

But Harkon could still fight, which is far more than he thought of Marcus at that point. The younger man was seemingly lying broken on the ground, barely clinging to life.

Which, wasn't too far fetched of an assumption to make.

"Do you feel it?" The vampire breathed. "Your hope, slipping away through your fingers?"

Harkon wasn't anticipating Marcus to respond. The question was almost rhetorical. Harkon didn't think the young man was even conscious, let alone capable of a response.

"No..." Marcus gurgled, his mouth thick with his own blood. He shifted, putting his one good arm and one good leg underneath him, and pushing at the ground.

Harkon's eyes widened. Impossible. The man was getting back up. Again. He still wasn't done.

"You..." Harkon quivered with rage. "Why. Won't. You. Die?!"

Marcus staggered as he finally got back onto his feet. Pain shot through his leg but he prayed for the strength to block it out. He gave an almost tired smile at Harkon. "I've finally got something to lose."

Harkon twitched with barely contained rage at Marcus' statement, then swarmed forward as fast as his broken limbs could move him. He swiped at Marcus' face with a claw. The young man ducked, feeling his organs press painfully up against each other. He reached out with his good hand and plunged it inside the large slit across Harkon's stomach he'd made earlier, before ripping out a chunk of flesh. Gross, but with no magic and no weapons Marcus didn't really have many offensive options left.

Harkon roared at the inflicted wound, then drove a knee into the young man's face. Marcus fell onto the ground, and scrabbled backward to gain a little distance. His mind raced for ideas, but to no avail. He had no plans left, no weapons, and a broken body.

Harkon took several limping steps over to him, and glared downward. The vampire lord seemed to be thinking of something appropriately condescending to say, but didn't get the chance. From atop the above rocks jutting out of the ground around the base of the castle, a figure leapt downward. Serana.

She landed on top of Harkon and drove the remaining half of Harkon's sword through his neck. He made a surprised grunt, followed by a rumbling gurgle that probably should've been a loud shout.

But it wasn't enough to end him. Harkon reached up with his one good arm and grabbed a hold of Serana, throwing her to the ground. He then raised a hand and consumed the rest of his magicka with firing a series of draining bolts at her body. Before she could recover, Harkon staggered over, growled, and raised a foot before bringing it down on her chest with a heavy stomp. Marcus heard at least one rib break.

Serana screamed in pain, arching her back and clutching her chest in agony. Her mouth opened and closed breathlessly, eyes wide. Harkon reached up and pulled the blade out of his neck slowly. Blood trickled down his chest, but the vampire's eyes indicated a manic mentality so crazed that he probably didn't even feel the pain.

Harkon's long claws wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and he reached down to pick up Serana with the other hand.

He raised Serana up, and readied the shard of blade.

All of a sudden Marcus was on his feet, and running. He didn't know how he was physically capable of doing so, he just knew he had to stop Harkon. He had to stop him before he hurt Serana. His exhausted, battered body had just enough strength in it to charge one last time, driven by a madness only possible from love.

Then Harkon dropped Serana and twisted around at the last moment as Marcus reached him, plunging the sword right into the space where the Dragonborn was missing a piece of his breastplate.

Marcus was forced to stop suddenly, and his eyes widened with shock. He glanced down at his chest, seeing the blade sticking out of the centre of it. The world seemed to slow down.

Marcus felt a creeping coldness, and almost frowned in confusion. Then his legs suddenly disobeyed his brain, and he collapsed to the ground.

Serana watched this happen, and let loose a wail that could've made thin glass shatter. It devolved into a scream of pure fear and fury. She stood upright, and faced Harkon with a look of utter devastation and unparalleled hatred.

Then she began to convulse…

Serana's skin wrapped itself in bubbling red magic, then exploded as she transformed into her vampiric Lord form on the spot. Harkon had just enough time to change his expression from vindictive satisfaction to shock before the she slammed into him and began slashing at every inch of his body.

The two vampires ripped and teared at each other in an animalistic, carnal fashion. There was almost no attempts to block attacks or dodge, it was just pure offensive action on both sides. Growling, clawing, tearing. There was no space in the minds of either for anything but brutality.

Harkon was badly injured, but after using the drain life spells, he was in a better way than Serana. In addition, she rarely ever donned the mantle of this form and as such was very inexperienced. Harkon had no such handicap. Blood flowed off the two in equal measures, but Harkon slowly began to overpower Serana. Her attacks slowed, and the male vampire lord began to push her back.

Steadily, Serana was brought to the ground, Harkon leering over her. Still she fought back, giving no quarter and making him pay dearly for every scratch he inflicted.

Harkon was beyond mortally wounded, but it wasn't quite enough.

* * *

Marcus opened his eyes, spots of blood across his vision. He saw Serana, the one person who he'd finally managed to love, getting killed. He heard her pained cries. A inch to the right of his perspective, was the handle of Harkon's shattered sword, sticking up from his body.

He summoned whatever strength the Gods had yet to give him, and tried to move his hand. The fingers twitched, weak. Marcus clenched his teeth, and tried harder. Slowly, his hand moved up, shaking, and reached for the handle of the weapon buried in his chest.

Harkon snarled in triumph as Serana's strength began to leave her body, and her attempts at reciprocating his slashes ceased. He raked a claw across her face, earning a pained whimper.

Marcus pulled at the sword hilt, darkness seeping in from all sides of his vision as the remainder of his conscious mind was filled with agony. The weapon slowly moved upward, blood welling from the wound. He willed himself to cling to reality for just a few more seconds.

The blade came free with a spray of blood. Marcus gripped the handle tight, and drew his arm back.

Harkon sensed something was wrong, and turned slowly.

Marcus threw the blade, it glinted under the evening sunlight as it spun through the air.

And landed with a solid 'thunk' in Harkon's right eye socket.

The Vampire Lord reared backward, arms flailing. He roared at the heavens wordlessly, his voice turning from loud, to ragged and weak. Harkon's skin began to dissolve into puddles. The very flesh covering his frame melted. His bones were exposed a few seconds later, draped in rags of muscle, before everything dissolved into a steaming pile of viscera on the ground.

Then silence. A long silence.

Marcus' world finally sunk into darkness. His body went limp, head dropping to the ground. The light in his eyes faded, as they stared blankly up at the sky.

More silence.

Serana's figure stirred.


	49. Dawnguard: Epilogue

**Author's Notes: Late chapter, but I've had so much on the last few weeks it was unavoidable. Mid-semester exams, assignments, etc. Plus, this is probably the one chapter out of everything I've done that I really wanted to get right. Hopefully it came out ok. I'll be eager to hear all your thoughts on it. Goodness knows how well it all turned out, but I can safely say I did my best.**

 **This is going to be a very explicit chapter. So, standard warnings apply, but I doubt it's anything most of you haven't read before.**

 **I guess I was never really going to be showing this story to friends and family anyway… but this chapter kinda cemented that.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Dawnguard Epilogue – The Greatest Sound

Marcus woke up, feeling… confused. He opened his eyes and saw small blades of grass swaying gently in front of his nose. His last memory was Harkon dissolving into puddles of melted flesh while he himself was bleeding out on the ground, so the fact that he currently felt no wounds was worrying to say the least.

He sat up easily, with no twinges of pain. Looking down he saw himself in a plain white cloth shirt, and brown trousers. No bloodstains, no indications of injury. That was certainly strange. Last he checked, mortal injuries didn't go away that quick. Then he had a look around at his immediate surroundings, and his eyes widened in shock.

He was home. In Chorral.

He sat in the middle of the garden that used to be tended behind his family home. It was a medium-sized place, indicative of his wealthy family. The garden itself and the house just in front of it looked well-kept, which was also odd because the last time Marcus was here it was the complete opposite. It didn't feel like he was hallucinating, or dreaming. Everything was too… real.

Marcus stood up, and looked around. Sitting under a tree a short way away, on a small wooden bench, was the third thing that was amiss about this entire reality. Marcus felt waves of nausea as he saw a face he hadn't seen in what felt like countless lifetimes.

Mum.

Marcus' entire body froze, a hundred emotions battling for control over his facial expression. Shock, sorrow, grief, regret, wonder, confusion… fear.

 _It can't be,_ Marcus thought, eyes wide. _It's not possible..._

He took a few shaky steps forward, his legs feeling like they might collapse under him at any moment. His mind raced with explanations.

Sara Lavernius looked up when he got close, and gave him a smile that made Marcus' heart shake violently in his chest. Marcus' face finally chose an expression: Stricken.

"M… Mum?" He whispered in a hoarse voice. His mind had seemingly run out of thoughts to shoot through itself, so it just drew a blank.

Sara stood up, and she held her arms out wide. "Well? Don't I get a hug?"

Marcus didn't move. His logical mind had officially exploded, so all he had to base his actions off were his emotions, which were terribly conflicted. His heart was torn between running forward like the 10-year old he once was and wrapping himself in her arms, and reaching down to his side to draw the sword he didn't have.

"What is this?" he asked, voice breaking. "What is… all of this?" He gestured around to the garden, to the house, to her. "Where am I?'

His mother dropped her arms to her side, her request for a hug seemingly forgotten. Her expression turned to one of sadness. "Does it matter?"

Marcus looked sideways down at the ground. "I was… on the shore… There was blood everywhere." His fingers reached up and brushed his chest, right where there had been a gaping knife wound.

He looked up, his expression falling into remorse. "You're dead. I watched them place your body in the ground. So the only way we could be talking right now, is if I'm dead too."

She smiled. "You're half right. I died a long time ago… but you haven't quite shared that fate."

Marcus' face turned to weary confusion. "Then… why am I here? Wherever here is?"

Sara's face turned a token scolding. "Because you came too damn close, which made us all very worried, I'll have you know. Your soul was practically halfway to Aetherius before you got stabilized, so you were brought to this… medium. I was chosen to speak to you, because it was hoped you'd be calmer at the sight of me."

Marcus looked up at his mother, things slowly clicking back into place. The first thing he felt was relief at the fact that he'd actually survived. Then the realization of something important hit him. "So… you're real? You're actually… my mother?"

She smiled. "Yes. It's been a while, Marcus…"

Marcus looked at her, his posture breaking down. She was real. There was no need for caution. His Mum was here… and he wasn't dead… so everything was alright. His lower lip trembled and in an instant he rushed forward and with a sob so uncharacteristic of the man he had become, wrapped his dear Mother in a tight embrace.

Marcus buried his face in her shoulder, trying not to squeeze too tight. Tears filled his eyes. She smelt like lavender, just like she always had. Sara embraced him back with a content, somewhat relieved expression on her face.

"I'm sorry." Marcus mumbled between tired, fretful breaths. "I'm so, so sorry..."

"Darling, why?"

He released her, holding her by the shoulders, but barely being able to look her in the eyes. Now that he knew she was real, he could hardly keep the waves of regret and guilt stemmed.

"I made you a promise..." he breathed in, forcing himself to say the words. "and I broke it. I swore I'd take care of her, and I didn't… I couldn't keep that promise."

Sara reached forward and pulled him into a hug again. "There was no other way it could've gone. You did your best, Marcus. That's all we can ask. That's all anyone can ask."

"But…" Marcus breathed out shakily. "If it wasn't for me she'd still be alive."

Sara patted him on the back. "No, because if it wasn't for you the world would've ended."

"But..."

"You always were my little 'doom and gloom' soldier, Marcus, but try to be a bit more realistic. We're very proud of you… All of us. There's only so much weight you can put on someone's shoulders, and... what happened to Lora shouldn't rest on yours."

Marcus couldn't find the words. He just looked down and breathed out.

"Our time grows short." Sara said with a smile, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "Get back out into that world and give yourself a happier ending than the one you just narrowly avoided."

Marcus looked down at the ground. He wondered if he'd ever be able to guarantee that. Would he even recognize a happy ending?

"Our family has seen too much loss," his mother said in a low voice, almost pleading. "Please don't let that continue… You should add some more love to it."

Marcus blinked. "W- What?"

Sara Lavernius looked up. The world seemed to fade away, growing brighter… and less clear. Soon the pair of figures was all that remained.

"Don't let her go." His mother urged him quietly. "Don't **ever** let her go."

Then everything went white.

* * *

In this time of victory, Serana tasted only defeat.

Why?

When the Dawnguard had regrouped on the beach of Castle Volkihar and Isran had given his speech about the triumph they'd achieved, she was on the boat with Colette, kneeling beside the broken and battered body of Marcus. His blood was everywhere… on her hands, on the deck, on her clothes, on the countless bandages they'd applied to try and stem the flow… it was all stained with the proof of her failure to her only friend.

When the everyone had decided to throw a huge party at Solitude, the closest city, to celebrate their victory, Serana had stayed inside Proudspire Manor seated beside Marcus' bed. Many people came by to check on him… the Companions, the assassins, the Thieves, several mages, his housecarls, a select few Dawnguard members… but they all left after a while. She'd stayed.

When the Dawnguard announced they'd be hunting down the remainder of her father's vassals, in order to ensure the lasting peace, she hadn't bothered to assist them. Even though her knowledge might've proved invaluable, she'd instead been on the carriage transporting Marcus and Colette to the newly finished Windstad Manor so they'd be closer to the College and thus closer to Colette's resources.

And there she stayed, almost never leaving his bedside except when she absolutely had to. Even Colette, who seemed to take it upon herself to pour every ounce of her knowledge and magical talent into ensuring the young man recovered, didn't spend so much time near him.

Why?

The single question kept spinning about in her head. She couldn't find an answer sufficient to explain the intensity of her own actions. Why did she feel so lost? Why did her cheeks never dry? Why did he matter so much to bring this unending tide of feelings to the surface?

She just… couldn't bring herself to leave his side, desperately awaiting the moment that he shifted, and his eyes opened. Colette came by regularly, along with Tolfdir and many other members of the Guilds, to do everything they could.

It didn't matter much.

As Serana had been told, countless times, at this point there wasn't much more anyone else could do. Her mind drifted to the carriage ride over here, about a week ago.

* * *

" _Isn't there anything you can do?" Serana had asked desperately, as the carriage trundled on. She was cradling Marcus' head in her lap, telling herself it was to ensure a bump on the road didn't bang him against the wood. "Some age-old magic, some rare potion, or a ritual?"_

" _Girl, listen," Colette sighed. "I miss Marcus just as much as you..."_

No you don't _, Serana instantly thought._

 _Colette continued, "But trust me, there's nothing more that can be done. It's a miracle he's still technically alive. When you carried him to the boat his heart was beating about once a minute, and even that's surprising given the fact that it'd had a knife rammed through it. Bringing him to a comatose state took everything I knew. I'm sorry. If anything, it's up to him now."_

* * *

Serana closed her eyes, and hung her head. Always the same story, the same endless worry and anxiety. She could hear his soft, faint breathing. So alive… yet so dead. The window opposite her bathed the room in bright rays of light, indicative of late afternoon. She couldn't remember how long it'd been since she'd slept… since she'd even left the room.

The logical part of her brain told her that staying beside him like a watchful dog did literally nothing… that it would only serve to make her feel more depressed. But every step away from his side felt like a betrayal. A betrayal to the one man who'd actually made her feel like she mattered… like she was cared for.

The door creaked open, and Tolfdir walked in. He looked surprised, and slightly pitying as he saw her.

"You've hardly moved since this morning." He stated.

Serana didn't reply. She hadn't moved at all, period.

Tolfdir pulled up a chair next to her, and looked at Marcus with a similarly morose look. "Any change?"

"No." Serana said, looking at the silent young man. "No change."

"Colette say anything new?"

She shook her head, feeling bitter helplessness swell up in her chest. "No. Same prognosis. Days, months, or even years. He may never wake up."

Tolfdir sighed. "Pray that he's doesn't, girl. Pray that he quietly passes on, without any further trouble."

"What?!" Serana cried incredulously, almost leaping off her chair. "How could you say that? After everything he's done?!"

He looked up at her, an expression of solemn acceptance on his face. "I saw the state he was in when you carried him to Colette. The only way he's coming back to us is through some act of the Gods, and if that happens it means they're not done with his soul… So pray his work is done and he gets to rest, enjoying whatever afterlife he wants, because if he wakes up it only means he's going to go through all this again."

Serana's face dropped. She hadn't thought of that. Tolfdir's words reminded her of Marcus' own, how he thought of himself as little more than a tool of the Gods. She felt a surge of emotion in her chest. She found she honestly didn't care. She just wanted him back. They could change his fate together, if need be. She wanted to look upon his smile again, to see his bright sparkling eyes, to walk the roads and wilds of Skyrim with the crunch of his heavy boots beside her.

Serana looked down at the ground again. The same thoughts had returned to her… the same wishes. Why exactly did she want to experience those things so much, that they almost never left her mind? Why was his presence suddenly so important? Had she felt this way before the battle, and was just so drunk on the sensation she hadn't noticed? Or was it the sudden lack of his presence that made her realize how much he mattered?

Tolfdir sighed, standing up and walking over to the door. As he opened it, he glanced back. "You should get some rest. You practically never leave this room, and while I doubt vampires have the same constitution as us, I think it'd still be healthy to get some fresh air."

Serana nodded distractedly, looking back over to Marcus' face. "I… I will. In a bit."

Tolfdir sighed again, then left the room, leaving Serana alone with the comatose young man. The room descended into silence for a long time.

Marcus was beginning to look thin. The cheekbones on his face stood out, resultant from his face having less fat and meat filling it out. No doubt if she had the indecency to take off the covers, the bones on his ribs would be more visible, and his muscles would have begun to fade.

The sight of Marcus slowly growing more malnourished and weak as he was deprived of normal meals and his typical healthy lifestyle made something in Serana's chest shatter. It was almost too much to bear. She needed a rest. With a deep sigh she stood up, and left.

Around 15 seconds after Serana left the room, Marcus breathed in a sharp, shaky gasp. His eyes shot open.

His first conscious sensation was that everything was too bright. Too bright, and too painful. Every limb had a deep-seated ache, and his chest felt like it'd been filled with acid. He glanced blearily around the room, not recognizing the furnishings and layout.

 _Odd,_ Marcus thought. He generally remembered most of the places he owned a bed in. Perhaps his mind was still hazy from waking up. He wondered what'd happened since the battle. He felt like crap, so it couldn't have been too long.

Marcus wanted to move. He could feel bed sores beginning on his back, and his muscles felt lethargic. He tried to sit upright in the bed, but after moving a few centimeters his entire torso exploded with enough pain to completely knock him out and send him falling back onto the pillow unconscious.

* * *

Serana watched the sun rise over the water. It was a beautiful sight, with the large shape of Solitude in the distance. Rays of golden light filled the archway under the palace, creating lines of yellow across the land. The water sparkled like molten bronze, only disturbed by gentle winds.

All Serana could think of was how much she wished Marcus was there to see the sight. The colour seemed distantly similar to how his eyes looked… that divine intensity.

She didn't know what to do with herself. Her father was dead, and most of her family home was destroyed. At some point she should go and let her mother know she could return to Tamriel, but she hated the thought of going through the Soul Cairn alone. Perhaps she'd be able to live with Valerica, but Serana didn't find the idea particularly appealing. The only other option was staying with the Dawnguard, for as long as they'd let her.

Serana breathed out heavily. It all looked very bleak. If Marcus was ok, there wouldn't be any problem. They could just explore and adventure together for as long as they wished. But now… there was little hope of that ever happening.

Her thoughts had drifted back to him, again. It was almost confounding how often it happened. That same desperate need, tainted with grief and pain.

Ironically, Marcus was the only person who she really figured she could talk to about such a thing. They'd shared so much of their own thoughts to each other, it was easier to imagine talking to him about something like this than anyone else. Part of her wanted to know if he'd feel the same way if their roles were reversed.

Serana wished her life had been a bit more diverse, that she might understand emotions a little better. A few centuries in the company of malicious vampires and the stoic couple that'd been her parents hardly gave the experience required to understand other people, let alone the mess going on in her own head. What was something that she was yet to feel, that could explain it all? What feeling did she have so little knowledge of, that could explain her confusion?

The answer seemingly drifted through her mind like a letter carried by a gentle breeze.

 _I love him._

Serana's eyes went wide. Her breath caught in her throat. The truth had seemingly tumbled into her thoughts and promptly blown them apart. It sounded so… alien, yet made perfect sense. She was in love. She loved Marcus.

Of course she did. Idiot. How could she not have realized it sooner? He'd been the most dependable, friendly, trustworthy person she'd ever met. He'd sacrificed himself time and time again for her, and been by her side when she was the most alone she'd ever been. Ever since she met him, her life had been the best it had ever been. And now that he was gone, it'd all fallen apart again.

Turning on her heel, Serana turned and quickly walked towards the house. She went through a side door and then barged past a surprised Colette, taking the stairs upwards two at a time. She didn't even know why, she just needed to see him under the light of this new revelation. She almost ran down the hallway and threw open the door to Marcus' room.

The bed was empty.

* * *

Marcus woke up again. He felt marginally better, only he had a splitting headache this time. He looked around, seeing himself in the same room. The sunlight was coming through a different window. He moved his head an inch at a time, being careful not to flood his body with blackout-levels of pain like he did last time.

Everything still hurt, but not debilitatingly so. Tentatively, Marcus moved his arms underneath him, and pushed himself into a sitting position. His chest spasmed with pain, but it did little more than give him mild nausea. A part of his brain questioned whether he should be moving in such a state, but he buried it down. He wanted to know what'd happened. He wanted to find Serana, and check that she was safe.

Marcus pushed at the covers, slowly lifting them off his body. Then, clenching his jaw hard, he moved over to the side of the bed and swung his legs down. After a brief bout of dizziness, and several deep breaths, Marcus pushed at the floor and stood up.

His knees hurt, but he wasn't falling over. That was good.

Using the wall for support, Marcus staggered over to the far side of the room and parted some curtains to reveal a small balcony. He stepped outside, and cracked a huge smile as he felt the cool morning breeze on his face for what felt like the first time in years. He looked at the surrounding area, and a few things clicked in his mind.

He was at Windstad Manor. He could even see the spots of dead grass where the builder's tents had been set up. That explained why he didn't recognize the room, as he'd never actually been in it before.

Though he hadn't exactly been following the construction closely, with the vampire crisis and everything, he would've thought that'd it'd take longer than it had.

 _Exactly how long was I unconscious?_ He wondered.

From the room behind him, he heard a cry of alarm. Frowning, Marcus pushed his way past the curtains into the room again. Serana stood in the centre of the doorway, hands on the sides of her stricken face.

"Oh, thank goodness," Marcus breathed out. "You're ok. I was worried. What's the panic?"

Serana's head snapped over to him, and her features grew even more shocked… but happily so. Her face breaking, she ran over and wrapped her arms around him with a little squeal. She squeezed him tightly enough to illicit a groan of pain from the injured man.

"I… I..." Serana gazed blankly behind Marcus, almost clutching him desperately for fear he might fly away. Her breaths were erratic. "I thought I'd l-lost you..."

"Hey, hey," Marcus grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back a little so he could look at her properly. Her eyes were sparkling as they began to fill with tears as the weight was lifted off her mind. "It's ok, I'm here now… alright?"

"You were..." Serana felt very faint on her feet. "You've..."

His eyes twinkled at her. "You think I'd leave my best girl all alone? You'd have to be crazy."

Serana stared at him, her face beginning to be stained by the tears running down her cheeks. She looked like she'd had a rough couple of days. Her hair was all over the place, her clothes were crumpled, and there were patches under her eyes. She still looked like the most beautiful creature on Nirn.

Marcus had had enough. He needed to say it. He didn't care if she didn't feel likewise, he'd come too close to death not to let her know. No more waiting.

"Serana," he began, "I -"

"I love you," She cut him off, burying her face in his bandaged chest, speaking through panted breaths. "I love you so much… Please don't let this be another dream… Please."

Marcus' heart skipped a beat, and his eyes lit up upon hearing the most wonderful words in his life. Serana began sobbing against his shoulder. She was practically in emotional overload. It'd all been too much for her. Gently, Marcus took a step back and placed a hand under her chin. Lifting her head up, he wiped a tear off her cheek.

"I love you too… Serana."

The words hung in the air for a moment, before hesitation was thrown out the window. Marcus and Serana each wrapped their arms around the other, and pressed their lips together in a searing, mind-melting kiss.

Marcus' head went empty. All he could feel was the fire rushing through his veins and sensation of her smooth, soft lips against his. Serana reached behind his head and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. The feeling was bliss in its purest form. Like it felt when he fought a Dragon, the world seemed to fit together a little more.

They stayed that way for a long time, until footsteps came down the hall. Colette had come to see the source of the commotion.

"Oh my word..." the healer muttered as she saw Marcus. She rushed forward and grabbed the entangled pair. "Easy girl, I need to check his condition."

The pair parted very reluctantly, separating their lips slowly while they still gazed into each other's eyes. Colette practically pried them apart, and set to work examining the bandages on Marcus' chest. She seemed less concerned at the fact the two had been kissing and more worried about the physical state of her patient, carefully studying whether the cuts underneath the cloth had been reopened.

After a while, Colette hummed thoughtfully to herself. "Ok. I'm going to go fetch some fresh bandages, and some warm water." She took a step back and looked Marcus. "Please don't do anything silly. You're shouldn't even be alive, much less walking around."

Then Colette left the room. Marcus breathed out, and turned back to Serana with a soft smile. "You heard her. Nothing 'silly'."

"I don't care," Serana breathed, rushing forward and pulling him into another kiss. It lasted for as long as Marcus was feasibly able to hold it, which much to his chagrin wasn't very long given his weakened state. As he separated for air, Serana settled for holding him in a tight hug, resting her head on his shoulder. She looked happy, yet… desperate. As though she still wasn't quite sure this was real and didn't trust reality to snatch this moment of happiness away.

Marcus held her equally tightly. It seemed so foreign to him. The notion that he was loved by the person he himself loved… it was strange knowing that something he'd imagined so often in his mind as completely unreachable, had come true.

Serana pleaded, "Don't ever leave me again..."

Marcus swallowed, deciding to do something he'd told himself he'd never do again.

"I won't. I promise."

* * *

Marcus handed Colette one of the saddlebags. She took it from him and attached it to the saddle resting on the horse. He apparently wasn't 'allowed' to do anything strenuous, but he doubted Colette considered helping her get prepared for her journey qualified.

It was ridiculous, of course. It'd been a little over a week since Marcus had woken up, and while he doubted he'd want to fight anything tougher than a troll, his physical condition was basically fine. He'd always been a fast healer.

"Now, what were my three rules?" Colette asked him expectantly, as she heaved herself into the saddle.

Marcus sighed. The woman took her job too damn seriously. "Don't leave the premises of the manor. Don't pick a fight with anything. Don't use any magic."

"Good." Colette nodded to herself. "I'll be back in a few days."

"You don't have to come back at all," Marcus said. "I'm fine. Really. You've done more than enough, Colette."

"Nonsense. If it wasn't for the suspicious loss of those ingredients I wouldn't be leaving at all."

Marcus frowned. "Wait. 'Suspicious loss'? What are you implying?"

Colette chewed her lip. "Let's just say there might be an interested party in my departure."

Marcus stared blankly at her.

"Huh," Colette rolled her eyes. "Just try not to die again until I get back."

Marcus grinned. "Don't worry. I doubt the world's got much left in it that can kill me."

The healer rode off, leaving the young man alone out the front of the manor. With a stretch, he turned around and headed back inside. Lydia and Jordis had been there the previous day, each congratulating Marcus on his speedy recovery, but they'd left to deal with other tasks. Jordis had gone to sort out a few extra furnishings from Solitude, as there was still plenty of empty space in the building. Lydia had gone back to Whiterun to sort out the transfer of a few artifacts from Breezehome, to this more secure location.

All in all, Marcus was pretty impressed with his new house. It was pretty much perfect for all his needs. The proximity to the ominous marshland wasn't great, but it was geographically close to most of the other places he'd need to visit.

Of course, it was a very large place, and now that it was just himself and Serana it would probably be pretty empty. As Marcus walked into the kitchen and looked in the cupboard for something to eat, he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist. He couldn't stop a smile touching his face.

Serana kissed his cheek from behind. "Did Colette just leave?"

"Yeah. She said she'd be back in a few days. I told her there wasn't much need, but she insisted."

"Hmm..."

Marcus turned around to look at the woman. Her face sported a playful smirk. He raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to know what happened to those ingredients of hers that necessitated her trip back to the College, would you?"

Serana grinned, then pouted mockingly. "What exactly are you insinuating, Marcus Lavernius?"

"Well… with Colette gone, we now have the manor to ourselves."

Her smile widened. "And...?"

"And… oh, for goodness sake Serana, don't make me spell it out."

She laughed. "You can't blame me. I could hardly get you alone for 10 minutes without her needing to replace those bandages of yours for the millionth time, or forcing some weird potion down your throat."

Marcus chuckled, and wrapped his arms around the arch of her lower back, pulling her close. They shared another long kiss, before Serana broke free and whispered a few words into his ear with a husky voice.

"Give me 10 minutes, then come meet me in the bedroom."

Marcus' pulse quickened, and his face involuntarily went red. "I'll be there."

She gave him a cheeky look, then sauntered upstairs. Marcus swallowed with hint of nervousness. He'd be lying if he hadn't thought about it. A lot. But now that they were actually alone… Marcus worried if he'd be able to satisfy her. He knew Serana didn't have much experience, but then neither did he. Plus, his body wasn't exactly… pristine. He'd stopped counting his scars after 20. It'd be insane to even think he could compare to Serana's magnificence.

But Marcus wasn't going to back out now, even if his anxiety was threatening to shatter the bravado-laced facade he believed he should be wearing for something like this.

After 10 very long minutes, Marcus headed upstairs. He hesitated at the door.

 _You love her, and she loves you,_ Marcus told himself. _Relax._

He pushed open the door, and nearly fainted.

Serana was leaning against one of the bedposts looking at him with a naughty smile, with a barely perceptible undertone of shyness, indicating perhaps she was just as nervous as he was. She was wearing a short, lace black dress, the skirt barely reaching halfway down her thighs and the neckline leaving very little to the imagination. As she stood up straighter, the movement of the fabric indicated how thin it was.

Marcus blinked a few times. "W… Where in Oblivion did you get that?"

Serana smiled. "You think I've been twiddling my thumbs the past week while you've been limping about this house? I've been waiting and preparing for a long time."

Marcus took several steps toward her, while Serana did the same. They met in the middle of the room. Serana looked anxiously at his chest.

She said, "Are you sure you're well enough? I don't want you to be hurt..."

Marcus raised an eyebrow at her, glancing at her mesmerizing figure. "What, as if I'd be able to just walk out and forget everything if that wasn't the case?"

She looked up at him. "I'm serious."

"I'm fine." Marcus stroked her cheek. "I'll prove it to you."

Then he grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss, practically mashing her face against his. Serana emitted a small muffled yelp of surprise, then opened her mouth and started kissing back just as fiercely. They began slowly, but with intensity, Marcus' hands automatically wrapping around her waist and refusing to let go. Serana raised her arms up, placing them loosely on his shoulders and laced her fingers together behind his neck. Their bodies were desperate to be closer to each other, as if every inch separating them was a colossal injustice.

Serana's mouth parted wider, to kiss Marcus more fully. He took the opportunity to press his tongue past her lips, swirling it around and trying to map out the intricacies and shape of her mouth. Serana responded eagerly in kind, leading to almost a battle for dominance between their lips.

Nothing could prepare Marcus for the sensation of kissing her so… powerfully. She had some inexplicable sweet taste, and every single movement of hers sent white hot sparks shooting through his body, stirring and agitating a mixture of passion and lust brewing in his chest.

He bit down on her lower lip, coaxing a moan of lust from the girl in front. The sound was something he'd never expected to hear from her, yet it nearly drove him mad. It was almost as wonderful as her laugh. He desperately wanted to hear it again.

Heat surged through Marcus' body. With an aggression that surprised even him, he grabbed Serana and pinned her to the wall with a thump. Almost instantly he separated his lips from her and looked down in concern, worried he'd hurt her, or acted too strongly.

Serana looked back up at him, panting harshly. Her face showed no sign of pain or faltering. Instead, it seemed his act of aggression had sparked something inside her. Her eyes looked misty and… almost hungry. Her normally pale face was flushed with blood. Her breaths rushed past her swollen, barely parted lips. She seemingly sensed his worry, grabbing him and pulling him forward to continue their intense bonding, before jumping up, raising her legs and wrapping them around his waist.

His doubts dissolved, Marcus kept her pressed against the wall and maneuvered his hands to cup her bare thighs and keep her supported. They continued their intense embrace for a while longer, until they parted once more. The air around them had started to heat up, their faces growing more flushed.

Marcus lowered his mouth and began attacking Serana's neck, gently nipping and biting at the smooth skin. She reacted very positively to this, much to his joy, releasing another moan and arching her neck as to give him easier exposure. This continued long enough for it to be a certainty that Serana would have definite marks there in the morning. They parted once more, breathing heavily and gazing into each other's eyes.

Then, something seemed to snap in the vampire's mind. She pushed Marcus back roughly, then took long strides forward and grabbed him by the collar. With a look halfway between surprise and amusement, Marcus was carried over and almost thrown onto the bed. He forgot exactly how strong she was.

Serana walked over to him, swaying her hips and staring at him up and down.

Marcus' eyes widened slightly, blinking a few times. "Someone's needy."

"I've waited over a week," Serana said, climbing onto the bed and positioning herself just above his waist, a leg on either side of him. She lowered herself down until their faces were but inches apart. "I can't wait any longer."

Marcus looked rather shocked at her forwardness. "My, my my. Are your feelings really that strong?"

She bit her lip as she took in every detail of his face. "They're stronger."

And with those words she planted a soft kiss on his mouth, then grabbed her dress by the sides and lifted it up over her head, revealing her completely nude body.

Marcus almost whimpered. She was… 'magnificent' didn't seem to be a strong enough word. Her breasts were large and perfectly shaped with all the fullness of a woman in the prime of her youth. Her toned stomach led to her curved hips, then her long slender legs. Her hairless sex was already wet from their foreplay, almost begging him to satisfy it.

Her form was like a sculpture, with just the right amount of definition in all the right places to make his pants grow increasingly uncomfortably tight. Her skin was all the same pale colour, seemingly lighting up the room with radiance befitting a goddess.

"Divines..." The word escaped Marcus in a harsh breath. He almost couldn't believe what his eyes were showing him. Serana smiled impishly at his reaction, something that made the arousal in his pants almost suffocatingly tight. He sat up and they resumed their passionate kissing, his hands caressing her body, while her hands worked to remove Marcus' clothing. Soon he was shirtless, and Serana paused to take in the shape of his body without the restraints of modesty she'd suffered under in the past.

She pushed him flat to the bed, and began to gently trace the contours of his muscles with a finger. She ran her eyes over his form, lean and well-muscled after years of perhaps the most physically demanding lifestyle in the world. Everywhere she touched him, Marcus felt the surface of his skin light up with a tingling sensation like little zaps of lightning. As she ran her eyes over his many scars and markings, he felt a surge of fear in his chest, worrying that she might be put off. Next to her, he was a dull rock in comparison to a gleaming diamond.

Serana saw the anxiety in his eyes, and smiled knowingly. He went to say something, but she placed a finger over his lips to silence him.

She breathed, "I wouldn't change a single thing about you."

Marcus stared up at her, his expression unreadable. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You want a list?"

He almost laughed, then stiffened as Serana grabbed the hem of his pants, and pulled them down. Serana rolled her eyes up and down his body, her gaze lingering on areas that made his arousal even more obvious. He was no slouch in her eyes, that was for sure. His size was a little above average, but to her inexperienced eye it was borderline imposing.

Naked in front of each other, the pair lost all decency and finally gave in to their desires. Almost throwing themselves at each other, they explored each other's bodies with hands and mouths. They practically rolled about the bed in a tangle of her smooth pale skin and his muscled limbs. Marcus paid particular attention to the enchanting mounds on her chest, massaging them and placing gentle kisses across them, while Serana reached down and slowly began to stroke his member to full hardness. The sensual expressions and movements became more energetic as they continued, however, indicating this superficial indulgence in each other couldn't continue forever.

Eventually Marcus paused, using every ounce of his self control to do so. He got himself above her, and gazing down with burning love.

He said three words. "Are you ready?"

Serana's body was the warmest it'd ever felt to her. Her skin looked moist enough for her hair to stick. That which wasn't, was sprawled around her head like a black sea. She panted heavily, her mind barely able to form speech. "Y – Yes..."

Positioning his waist between her legs, Marcus gently placed his throbbing member at her soaking entrance. Serana closed her eyes in bliss, as he slowly pushed into her. His shaft slid inside effortlessly, her insides slick and warm. She arched her back, moaning loudly as he filled her up inch by inch.

The sensation of being inside her made Marcus feel complete. She was so tight, pleasure coursed through his body like liquid fire. Serana's legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer, until he was entirely sheathed inside her. They paused for a moment, adjusting to the ecstatic feeling, then Serana rocked her hips to show she wanted to continue, and they began a slow pace for their love-making.

As he pulled out, Serana's walls embraced his shaft tightly, eliciting a groan from him. Then he pushed in again, coaxing another moan from the goddess beneath him. They devolved into a repeated series of moans and pants, each basking in the pleasure they were giving the other.

"Ah..." mewled Serana, in between thrusts. "Faster… more..."

Understanding, Marcus began moving in and out at a quicker pace. Her body began to shift with each movement, her breasts raising and falling by a few inches punctuated by wet slaps as their flesh collided over and over again. Marcus loved watching her, sensual overload painted on every one of her perfect features.

As their rhythm sped up, Marcus wanted to get closer. Maintaining the same pace, he leaned down and planted a kiss on Serana's lips, only for her to grab him by the neck and pull him closer, slipping her tongue into his mouth and sliding it around vigorously. Marcus responded eagerly, feeling her moans vibrate through their joined lips.

After a while, Marcus could feel something building up in his groin. He tried to last as long as he could, but Serana was just too tight. Separating from the kiss, Marcus sped up his movement, thrusting faster as he got closer to his peak. Serana showed signs of reaching her end too, gripping the sheets tightly in both hands and pushing against him with each movement.

One hand grasping one of her slender legs, and the other gripping her waist, his member glided in and out of her as she became wetter and wetter. Serana's body began to tremble, then her noises and gasps climbed in pitch until they became almost squeals of delight.

With one final hard thrust, Serana arched her back and released a loud cry of pleasure as she climaxed. Her walls clamped down around Marcus' cock and pushed him over the edge, his entire world dissolved into a mess of pleasure and ecstasy as he reached his limit and sprayed his seed inside her.

Their movements slowed to a gentle rocking quickly. Then they remained still for a few moments, descending from the mind-shattering heights they'd just experienced. Marcus pulled out, his semen slowly dripping out of Serana's core. He looked down at her, seeing her chest raising and falling rapidly with harsh panting. Her hair was plastered to her sweaty face and neck.

"Are you alright?" he breathed.

"Ah… Ah…Ah..." Serana tried to catch her breath, collecting up the pieces of her mind that'd exploded. As she regained her sense, she looked up at him with the hints of a smile touching her face. "I'm… better than alright. I'm not nearly finished." She sat up and turned around, surprising Marcus as she positioned herself on all fours away from him. She turned her head to look at him, a foxy grin on her face. "Fuck me."

Those words and the sight of her perfect ass and her stimulated entrance, with a mixture of their juices dripping down her thighs was enough to make Marcus instantly grow hard again. That, and her flushed face looking back at him as she chewed her lip in anticipation rekindled the raging fire with ease.

Without any pause, Marcus climbed onto his knees and grabbed the sides of her waist, pulling her backwards and impaling her on his shaft once more. The sensation of filling her again blew his through his mind, and left him craving so much more.

"Oh… Marcus..." Serana groaned, arching her back and pushing more of herself onto him. "Yes..." she moaned as he began pushing into her again and again, the new angle stimulating so many new areas. Marcus pushed deeper inside her, and as Serana arched her back her walls grew even tighter, sending even more pleasure rushing through his lower body. He fought a losing battle, trying to visually take in all aspects of her perfect body before him, as his eyes could only appreciate one area at a time.

They could both last longer this time, so they didn't waste a single minute with a slower pace. Marcus thrust into her as hard as he could, both of them losing mental control to their own base desires. Wet slaps filled the air, accentuated by Serana's moans.

He soon found a spot inside her, where with each thrust she cried out with euphoric gasps. He continued to pound into that one spot, making Serana squirm and buck in front of him. It was just as well that they had the house to themselves, as quite a bit of noise was being made.

Serana began to cry out rhythmically, abandoning any sense of dignity and losing herself to the sensation. She struggled for breath in between her cries and moans, panting and gasping louder than before. She bucked her hips with each smack, desperate for every little stimulation… every little spark of energy.

This continued for a long while, each far too submerged in their throes of passion to bother keeping track of time. The halls of Windstad Manor filled with the sounds of their sex, though Serana was definitely more vocal than Marcus. Then the young man felt his peak approaching once more, and sped up to satisfy the growing need within him. Serana's now incoherent babbles of ravishment began to increase in frequency and rapidity, showing her limit was nearly reached as well.

"Oh… Oh… OH… **OH**!" she screamed, ecstasy coursing through her body in waves for the second time, only with an intensity far greater than before. Marcus felt Serana contract around him, and the sound of her euphoric screams was too much, and he emptied himself completely, clutching her with a tight grip and riding out both their orgasms. The elated sensation lasted a while, but slowly subsided and was replaced with tiredness.

A minute later they collapsed together onto the bed, their bodies shining with sweat, and their lower halves glistening with juices. Residual pleasure filled their bodies, robbing them of sense. Marcus shifted to face his love, seeing her shaking with ravaged satisfaction. She smiled softly at him, reaching up and brushing his cheek.

"Gods..." she breathed weakly. "I love you..."

Marcus felt a surge of emotion in his chest, and wrapped an arm around her lower back, pulling her close. "I love you too." He could feel the fatigue finally take its toll.

Their energy spent, Serana soon fell asleep with Marcus not far behind. He stared at her next to him, so floored by her beauty that he tried to burn the glorious picture in front of him into his mind. His hand gently caressed her hair, unaware of the blissful smile on his own face. He slowly withdrew his hand, and closed his eyes. Then exhaustion claimed him, and his restless soul fell into the first content sleep it'd had in decades.


	50. Dragonborn: Chapter 1

A Doom Driven Hero: Dragonborn Chapter 1 – No Longer Alone

Marcus walked up the stairs leading to Valerica's small workplace, Serana beside him. The sound of her breathing and the noise generated from her footsteps were a definite comfort in this hostile place. He wouldn't have wanted to come back here alone. The soul cairn creeped him out to no end.

Valerica heard them approaching, she hurried out to meet them, curiosity and the faintest glimmer of hope on her face. "Why have you returned?"

Marcus said, "Harkon is dead."

Valerica's eyes went wide. "What? Are you certain?"

He nodded. "I watched him dissolve. He died by my hand."

Valerica breathed out a sigh of deep relief. "Then I see nothing preventing my return to Tamriel. Allow me to gather some of my things and I'll leave this place." The older woman hesitated for a moment, then continued. "And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you."

Marcus nodded again. "You're welcome, I guess. I also wanted to give you a proposition."

"Oh?"

"Castle Volkihar is a bit of a mess, not going to lie. There isn't really a whole lot left for you there, so..." Marcus chewed his lip. "I'm willing to extend an offer for you to join the College of Winterhold. We don't have a dedicated teacher for alchemy there, and I feel we ought to. The position is open to you, should you wish to take it."

Valerica blinked, stunned. "A-Are you serious? You'd be willing to take me in, just like that?"

"I am." Marcus nodded. "I've made preparations. If you do decide to take the offer, just head to Winterhold and let them know I sent you."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Plus, when Serana comes to visit, I feel like it'd be easier to go to the College, then the ruins of Volkihar."

Valerica frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, 'when Serana comes to visit?" She turned to face the younger vampire woman. "You're going to be coming to live with me, right?"

"Ah, yes," Marcus nodded, biting his lip. With a hand gesture he deferred to Serana. "We agreed it'd be best if you handled this part. I'll wait just outside." Then he quickly scooted over back to the stairs and walked down them, waiting at the bottom.

Valerica watched him go, then turned to face her daughter with a look of confusion. "What is this? Do you have other plans on where to go?"

Serana looked her mother straight in the eyes. "Marcus and I are in love. Where he goes, I go."

"What?!" Valerica exclaimed. "Are you insane?"

"I'm the sanest I've ever been." Serana was adamant.

The older vampire took a step back, shocked. "Serana… he's mortal. He allied himself with vampire hunters. You two couldn't be more different."

Serana shook her head. "You're wrong. I don't intend to debate this, I'm just letting you know where I stand, and that's with him."

Valerica paused, studying her daughter's face hard. The young girl's coldness in tone and rigid posture spoke volumes about how distant they'd grown. Marcus' parting words from when they'd retrieved the scroll rang through her head.

After a few long moments, Valerica sighed. She knew what she should say. "I'm can see I'm not convincing you otherwise… very well. I wish you two the best, in that case. Perhaps he will be better family than I was."

"Whether that is the case is still up to you, Mother." Serana said plainly.

Valerica nodded, as if accepting of the truth in such words. Serana turned to walk away, but she reached forward and gently pulled the girl's arm.

"Just… remember something, Serana," Valerica said quietly. "He is mortal, and thus will one day die. You, on the other hand, will live forever."

Serana stared back, attempting a firm visage but not quite managing to hide the fear behind her eyes. "I'm acutely aware of that, Mother."

Valerica nodded solemnly, then turned and walked back to her workbench. Serana watched her for a moment, and left to rejoin Marcus. He was standing about 10 metres away from the structure, looking out over the Soul Cairn. She walked up behind him and grasped his hand, interlocking their fingers.

"How'd she take it?" he asked.

She said, "Better than I anticipated."

Marcus sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I didn't want to be the source of another wedge between you and your mother. She's all the family you have left."

"I have you."

"I…" Marcus turned to look at Serana. She returned his gaze with a soft smile. After a moment, he smiled back. "Of course. You have me."

They began walking away, back through the Soul Cairn along the main pathway. 30 minutes passed of them moving in relative silence when Serana sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead.

"What's wrong?" Marcus asked, concerned.

She replied, "Did you see that look on my mother's face when you told her Harkon was dead? Pure and utter relief… how did we get so messed up? How did I let this happen?"

"Hey..." Marcus said softly, stopping and gently pulling her into a hug. Serana closed her eyes sadly and embraced him back, feeling the warmth radiating through his robed armour.

"It's not your fault," he said quietly. "It never was. You did everything you could."

"How can you know that?" Serana asked in a solemn tone. "You were never there..."

"I know, because I understand the kind of person you are. I know that if it was possible for you to change how this played out, then it would've been changed. Trust me. Don't blame yourself."

"I..."

Marcus released her, and gently brushed some hair out of her face. "Blame Harkon. Blame the scrolls. Blame Molag Bal. Just don't blame yourself, because you'd be the last person on Nirn to deserve it."

Serana felt warmth grow in her chest at his words. She smiled, and gave him a little squeeze before relinquishing her hold. "You always know what to say."

Marcus grinned. "It's not hard. You've probably said the same sort of thing to me at one point or another."

She rolled her eyes, then nodded towards the far side of the Cairn. "Come on, let's get out of here. This place makes my skin crawl."

* * *

Marcus rubbed his chin as he looked in the mirror. He shifted his head to the side, examining his cheeks. His stubble had grown out to the point where he'd normally shave it off, but part of him wondered whether that'd be a good idea.

"Hey Serana?" he asked, still looking at the polished glass.

"Yeah?" The slosh of water was heard as she moved to the edge of the bath, resting both arms on the lip and looking expectantly up at him.

"Do you think I should grow a beard?"

Serana chewed her lip. "I… I don't know. If you want to, I guess."

"Do you think it'd make me look more attractive, though?"

She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "I don't have any visual reference to compare it with, seeing as I've never seen you with one.."

Marcus frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder if I'd even be able to grow a proper one. I've never actually tried."

"Why the sudden concern in your appearance?"

Marcus smiled somewhat sheepishly. "It's your fault. You're too pretty, I feel I need to make steps to catch up."

"You're plenty attractive, Marcus. Don't be silly."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Do you want me to pull you into this bath and prove how wrong you are?"

Marcus blushed at the insinuation, then bit his lip as he considered it. "I… no, we'll never get anything done today otherwise. I'll be downstairs, whenever you're ready." Marcus smiled at her, then walked out of the room.

Around 20 minutes later, Serana came outside Windstad Manor in her traveling gear. Marcus was looking through his journal with a look of hard concentration.

"Do we have to go to Dawnstar?" Serana complained. "Why couldn't we just stay here, and spend the day in bed?"

"What, again?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "We can't do that every day, you know. There's quite a few duties I've been neglecting over the past months, what with the vampires, recovering from my brush with death, and then you borderline trapping me in the bedroom for a week."

Serana smiled slyly. "I don't remember you complaining at the time."

Marcus chuckled, looking down at his feet. "Yes, well… it couldn't last forever. It's just a brief trip, then we'll come back."

They set off towards Dawnstar, navigating through the marshland easily enough and making their way to the frozen tundra within half a day.

* * *

Serana waited in the inn, while Marcus dealt with the Dark Brotherhood. She would've liked to come along, but Marcus said they didn't like admitting new people into their Sanctum so soon. He'd broach the topic with them gently over a few visits, so they'd be more welcoming of her later on. If he used his authority to force everyone to accept her presence, odds are they'd end up disliking her.

Serana didn't mind. She used the opportunity to speak to the citizens of Dawnstar, learning a little about their lives and tribulations. Even now, she still knew very little about the outside world, and if she was to be adventuring with Marcus she'd need to change that.

After an hour, the door to the inn was pushed open and Marcus walked inside. He leaned against a wooden beam near where Serana was sitting. "I'm done, we can go if you'd like."

She nodded, and stood up. As they walked outside, Serana nudged him in the ribs. "I've spoken to some of these people about you, and heard what they have to say about the mighty Dragonborn."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "You should probably start separating me from what you hear of 'The Dragonborn'. The rumors and legends serve their purpose, but they're usually pretty ridiculous."

Serana smiled. "What, so you didn't single-handedly fight off 50 trolls to defend Dawnstar?"

"What?!" Marcus exclaimed, scrunching his face up with disbelief. "Is that what they're saying it is now? Divines… of course not, Serana. There was like… twelve, tops. And I had most of the Dawnstar guardsmen at my back."

"Still, it seems like every single person I talk to has a personal tale of how the 'legendary' Dragonborn helped them in their own lives."

"Yeah well..." Marcus shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "I do what I can. It's not all ballad-worthy adventures, as I'm sure you know."

They walked towards the edge of the town. Marcus looked sideways at Serana. Her face was twisted with her typical 'hard thinking' expression. A moment later, she took a deep breath to ask her question.

"How have you managed to do so much, in so little time? I've read about people in the past that have achieved great things, but you've knocked it all over in a nearly 2 years, it seems."

"What do you mean?"

Serana looked up at the sky, gathering her thoughts. "Well… I know you've got the powers of Akatosh at your back, but you didn't start off as an all-powerful figure of legend. How did you manage to survive long enough to develop the skills you needed?"

Marcus sighed, and gave a half-hearted shrug. "I don't really know. I was stupid, I guess."

She laughed, grabbing his hand and interlacing their fingers. "I was being serious."

"So was I. My days consisted of me bringing myself to the brink of defeat, time and time again, surviving by the skin of my teeth. Nothing as serious as the fight with Harkon, of course, but I still got hurt a lot. Once I'd recovered, I basically went out and did the same thing again. Rinse and repeat."

Serana faltered mid-step at these words. Her expression turned slightly horrified. "That's… terrible."

"I..." Marcus looked shame-faced. He didn't like talking about this. The time between discovering his destiny as Dragonborn and meeting Serana had been a dark chapter of his life. The hardships, violence and pressure kept mounting until it was all there was room for in his mind. It would've consumed him, if he hadn't met her. "My mind wasn't in a healthy place. I didn't have a whole lot else, apart from the death and danger. It defined me… I suppose."

Serana looked at his reflective, solemn face. She could make out a few faint scars on his cheek, and forehead. She knew from a rapidly growing volume of experience that his body contained even deeper scars under his clothes. Such young skin, carrying the signs of a someone several lifetimes older.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." She said, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Marcus looked at her. No judgement in her eyes, no scolding, no regret. No demands for him to promise he'd never do that again, or requests for him to take his life easier. Just… support, and a shoulder to lean on.

They walked past the Khajit caravan camp just outside the town. A nord couple was there, the woman holding her left hand up to the light to better examine the ring that'd just been bought.

"Oh, sweetheart," the woman said, smiling brightly and turning and giving her spouse a hug. "It's perfect!" The man returned the hug just as eagerly, happy he'd made his wife glad.

Serana watched their excited interaction, a pang of sadness entering her heart. Marcus didn't seem to notice the commotion, or simply didn't care. Once they were out of earshot of anyone else, Serana turned to Marcus as they walked.

"Do you..." she began hesitantly. "Does it bother you we aren't officially married?"

Marcus blinked. "That's a bit sudden. Why do you ask?"

"That couple back there… they looked really happy."

He shrugged. "I guess so. The guy looked a bit hurt if I'm being honest, but I think that's probably just because Ahkari would've bartered for every coin he had."

Serana fidgeted, wringing her hands. "I mean… I worry I've been selfish in terms of our relationship. What we have certainly isn't... normal."

"Are we normal people?"

"You know what I mean…"

"We've talked about this, Serana. I know you aren't comfortable around temples, and to be honest I'd rather not rush things anyway."

"But, isn't that the sort of thing that's supposed to happen? That couple looked really happy, and I… I don't want to deny you of that."

Marcus chuckled. "Denying me of what? Official matrimony rings and a wedding? None of that matters to me, Serana. Marriages in Skyrim seem to be a rather loveless and forced affairs, if I'm being frank. Most people meet, get to know each other, and decide to marry within the space of a few weeks. I would rather we didn't have that."

"What if other people start… talking? Disapproving?"

"I couldn't care less. The people that actually matter to me aren't going to mind, and those that do mind don't matter in the slightest."

"You're right." Serana nodded. "I should stop worrying."

Marcus raised an eyebrow at her. "You're starting to sound like me, with all the concern and anxious speculation. What gives?"

She sighed. "Sorry. It's just…" Serana looked down at her feet, not wanting to sound too desperate or… clingy. "These last few weeks have been the happiest of my life... I don't want to lose you, and I don't want it to end."

"Not going to happen." Marcus stated firmly, not a hint of doubt in his expression. "I literally refuse to let that transpire."

Serana felt herself smile at his wanton stubbornness. They wrapped their arms around each other, and continued walking in comfortable silence through the snowdrift.

* * *

"And then I said to him, 'You will show me the meaning of your name, and I will show you the meaning of mine.' Then I charged."

"In that state?" Serana exclaimed disbelievingly. "With blood dripping down you and everything?"

Marcus shrugged. "It was about time to finish it. The Dragon kept monologuing."

She shook her head. "I don't know what's more incredible, the fact that you did it, or the fact that you manage to make it sound so casual."

He grinned, "Well, when I… What's this?" He stopped abruptly, looking ahead. The path they'd been walking had ended, and in front of them lay Windstad Manor. Out the front of the manor, were three figures.

They wore a strange set of robes, and strange masks. The robes were brown, with yellow plates of some strange moulded material on the right arm and wrists. Their masks were white, fashioned in a strange sort of skull. They looked a little like monks, in an eerie way.

"Who are they?" Serana asked.

Marcus shook his head. "I don't know."

He approached the pair. They looked up as he got close. They seemed to have been waiting.

"You there!" One of them shouted. A woman. Her voice was old, and somewhat grating. Dunmer, it seemed. "Are you the one they call Dragonborn?"

"Yes," Marcus nodded, walking up closer. He assumed these people must've tracked him down to ask him for help. Most people just sent a courier. "I'm the Dragonborn. Can I help you with something?"

The woman stepped forward, her posture hostile. "Your lies fall on deaf ears, deciever! The true Dragonborn comes… you are but his shadow."  
Marcus frowned. "What in Oblivion are you on about? True Dragonborn?"

The dark elf seemed to get angrier at this, stepping forward and getting very close to him. "When Lord Miraak appears, all shall bear witness! None shall stand to oppose him!"

Marcus held his hands up in a placative fashion, and took a step backward. "Look, whatever the problem is, I'm sure-"

Then the woman acted with practiced speed, drawing her sword and slashing upwards at Marcus. The blade raked across the front of his chest, cutting through the cloth but only scratching the ebony chainmail underneath. Then it reached his collarbone, and the blade gave him a small scratch just at the base of his neck. A sharp sting, but little else.

Not wasting any more time attempting a dialogue, Marcus promptly drew his own sword and sliced off the dark elf's overextended hand at the wrist. Her sword clattered to the ground beside the limb that'd held it. She barely had time to scream before his blade slashed across her throat a second later and she fell to the ground with a sickening gurgle. The other two monks drew their weapons, and ran towards Marcus. The young man turned around to face them, made movements to meet them halfway.

His legs twitched, but didn't move much.

Marcus tried to look down at himself, or at least frown in confusion, but neither his neck or facial muscles seemed to respond to his whims. All he could manage was a faint twist. An icy hand gripped his heart as he realized why. The sword of the first monk had been poisoned, and a scratch to the neck would act very fast indeed. His body had enough experience with poison to mean he wasn't perfectly paralysed, but he still couldn't move fast.

Thus, there was next to nothing Marcus could do as one of the remaining attackers charged a lightning bolt in his hand, and unleashed it at Marcus' head while running.

The bolt struck Marcus in the side of his face, spinning his sluggish, stiff body about almost comically and dropping him to the ground.

In the 5 or so seconds since the engagement had begun, Serana had only managed to draw her dagger and charge an icy spear into her hand. When she saw Marcus' body freeze, she knew something was very wrong. Then the lightning bolt struck the side of his face, and her vision almost turned red.

The second monk was almost upon Marcus' prone figure when an icy spear blasted through his chest with enough force to exit cleanly and leave a hole the size of a cabbage in the centre of his body. The third attacker faltered mid-stride with surprise at the sudden combat prowess of what they'd originally assumed to be some random wench.

Serana bolted forward to place herself between Marcus and the final enemy. As the man raised his mace, Serana showcased her vampiric speed and plunged her dagger into his chest with one hand, then with the other reached forward and grabbed his throat.

Later, Serana would be grateful that Marcus was currently face-down in the dirt, as he wouldn't have liked to witness the unusually brutal fate she gave to the man who'd scorched the left side of her lover's face.

With a wrench of her hand, Serana ripped out the front half of the cultists throat, spraying her arm and face with a violent spurt of blood. She then tossed the corpse aside and sprinted back to Marcus.

He was still paralysed. The left side of his face hadn't been fried, but it was still burnt. His enchantments had protected him from permanent damage, but she knew he'd still be in terrible pain. Reaching down, she opened up one of the small pouches on his armour and pulled out the healing potion he kept on hand. Gently prying open his mouth, she tipped the contents down his throat, hoping he had enough control to swallow and not cough it all up.

A moment later, his skin glowed as the magic took hold and removed the effect of the poison. Instantly, Marcus' hands burst with golden light as he channeled a strong blast of restoration magic through his body. The burn marks on the side of his face faded.

"Gah!" Marcus gasped, sitting up and raking in a breath of air. "Are they dead? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, Marcus." Serana smiled at his concern for her. "I should be asking you that."

He reached up and tentatively touched the side of his face. "Is there any scarring? How's it look?"

Serana inspected his face, checking the cheek and neck. It looked fine. They'd been quick enough to avoid permanent damage. She gave him a peck on the spot that'd been burned. "It's fine. Back to normal."

Marcus breathed out in relief. "Ok. Thanks." He stood up, and walked over to the bodies of the attackers. Raising an eyebrow at the one that'd had it's neck torn open, he inspected the various pockets on their armour, searching for perhaps any hints as to why they'd attacked him, or who this 'Miraak' person was. A folded piece of paper, only partially splattered with blood, was on the body of one. Marcus opened it up and gave it a quick read.

 _Board the vessel 'Northern Maiden' docked at Raven Rock._ _Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Marcus before he reaches Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

Marcus got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Miraak… Solstheim. He knew Solstheim was an island to the north-east of Skyrim, but he hadn't heard of Miraak before. He felt like he should. This wasn't going to be good, he just knew it. He knew he would have to track down this Miraak person, if only to learn more, and he felt it was going to take him down a very, very difficult path. Perhaps he was being overcautious, but his none of his premonitions had been wrong so far.

"What's it say?"

Marcus looked up at her, his expression containing a token of dread. He stood up and handed the note over. "Looks like we're going on a trip."

* * *

Marcus pushed open the door to Breezehome, walking inside. It'd been a while since he'd been inside the building. It seemed smaller than he remembered. Lydia was just inside, sitting on a chair near the fire. She looked up as he entered, and smiled widely. Her smile faltered a bit, as Serana appeared through the door behind him.

"Hey," Marcus said, "I need to ask a favour."

"Of course." Lydia stood up and nodded. "What do you require of me?"

"Two things, actually. Have you heard of Miraak?"

The housecarl frowned for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I don't believe I have. Why do you ask?"

"He sent some assassins after me. Apparently he's on Solstheim."

"He got a death wish?"

Serana shook her head. "No. Apparently, he's another Dragonborn."

"What?!" exclaimed Lydia. "That's… impossible. You're the last one, aren't you?"

"That's what I thought," Marcus shrugged. "It said so on Alduin's wall, anyway, and that thing hasn't been wrong about anything else."

Lydia mused, "Perhaps its an imposter? Some cult leader trying to gain influence by saying he's Dragonborn?"

He nodded in agreement. "That's probably most likely, but either way I need to go and have some… 'stern words' with this man. See if I can discourage him from sending any more fanatics after me."

Lydia's eyebrows shot up. "So you want me to come along?" Her face became excited.

"Err..." Marcus looked guilty. "No… I was wondering if you'd be able to look after Windstad Manor while I was gone. There's a fair few dangerous items and artifacts there, so I'd rather someone I trusted was there to safeguard it."

"Oh..." Lydia looked crestfallen. House-sitting. Again. She glanced at Serana. "I suppose she's going with you?"

Serana frowned, then took a step forward,"Yes. I am."

Lydia looked like she was going to say something, then stopped and thought for a moment, before giving a deflated sigh. She turned and began walking upstairs. "I'll go grab my things. Do you want me there now?"

"We'll be heading to Windhelm to head off right away, so that'd be best." Marcus nodded. He then watched Lydia go and hesitated for a moment, thinking hard and chewing his lip.

Serana moved up beside him and gently touched his arm. "I think you should talk to her. Give her some closure."

Marcus sighed, and nodded. "I… you're right. Would you mind waiting outside?"

She nodded, and stepped out the door. Lydia came back down the stairs, carrying a small pack of equipment. Marcus looked over at the fire, and shifted nervously. He wasn't good at this sort of thing.

"Lydia," he began. "I… feel like I owe you an explanation."

The battlemaiden looked at him, and upon seeing his uncomfortable expression instantly knew what was up.

She breathed out heavily. "I understand Marcus. I… I was never the kind of person you needed, as much as I would've liked to have been…"

Marcus looked at her saddened face. The poor girl didn't deserve this. Hell, he didn't deserve her, even now. He searched his mind quickly, desperately trying to come up with any words of comfort, to lessen the pain for her. He couldn't think of anything that she wouldn't automatically know to be a lie. So instead, he opted to just tell her what he believed to be the truth.

"You were there for me from the start." Marcus said, smiling apologetically. "You were, and still are, my closest friend. Even now, I'm still stunned at how beautiful, loyal, and kind-hearted you are. But... I was never the kind of man you wanted me to be. Remember all those times you tried to get me to stay indoors? To take life a bit easier? To take care of myself more? The reason why you never succeeded was because that wasn't who I am. And I think… I think that shows that any relationship between us deeper than what we have now wouldn't have worked."

Lydia looked at the ground, hiding her eyes from his view. She knew he was right. It still stung, though.

Marcus said, "You deserve your own life, Lydia, and I don't want you to waste your prime chasing someone like me. I'm not worth it. So, after I get back from Solstheim I'll talk to Balgruuf about releasing you from your duty… give you a chance to find your own happy ending."

Lydia blinked rapidly at the floor, then she looked up at him, eyes a mixture of gratitude and sadness. "I… There just aren't many other men like you in the world, you know that?"

Marcus smiled softly. "There are no other men like me in the world… But that's a good thing." He walked forward and patted her on the shoulder encouragingly. "But enough talk. For the time being you still have a duty to me, and thus a job to do."

Lydia felt herself smile. "Of course, Marcus. Good luck in Solstheim. I wish you the best… both of you."

Marcus nodded and walked out to meet with Serana, leaving Lydia to get the rest of her affairs in order. She watched him leave, feeling a little bit better about missing out on his affections. It had been best to avoid skirting around the issue, and she was glad he'd been up-front about it.

Though, if Lydia was being honest with herself, she still would've liked to have had sex with him a few times.

* * *

Marcus and Serana stepped onto the deck of the 'Northern Maiden', and approached the important looking man overseeing the affairs on the ship.

Marcus walked up and cleared his throat. The man looked over with a slightly distracted, expectant look.

"Are you the captain of the Northern Maiden?"

The man nodded. "That's me. Captain Gjalund Salt-Sage. Why do you ask? Who sent you?"

Serana stepped forward. "We were attacked by some cultists who came here on your ship… care to explain?"

Gjalund held his hands up apologetically and took a step back. Something about the girl in front made him on edge. "Now hold on! That wasn't my fault… I didn't know they were going to attack anybody! I don't even know how I got here."

Marcus blinked in confusion. "What? How can you not know how you got here? You sailed to this port, right?"

Gjalund rubbed his eyes, as though recollecting the memories gave him a headache. "It's… hard to explain. I remember those weird masked people coming on board, then… The next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone."

Serana turned to Marcus. "That some kind of illusion magic?"

He nodded. "Probably. Did you see them cast a spell on you?"

The captain shook his head. "No, not that I remember. It's just... not right, losing whole days like that. There's been something strange happening on Solstheim for a while, but after this… I'm done. I'm not going back to Solethim."

Marcus crossed his arms. "Yes you are. You're taking us both to Soletheim."

Gjalund frowned. "What? Did you hear what I just said? I'm not going back there."

Marcus tilted his head to the side. "You owe us, and we need to ensure that no more cultists try and kill us."

"Look, I'm sorry about your troubles, but I don't want to risk it. I'm just a simple sailor, I never wanted to get mixed up in any of this."

Serana took a step forward, her face twisting to one of anger. If this man was going to be a coward now, when Marcus was being targeted, she would just have to give him something substantial to fear. Gjalund took a step back as the angry nord woman approached, but a gentle hand from Marcus restrained her.

"Relax, Serana. I'm sure we can work this out."

"Marcus, more of those cultists could be gathering as we speak. He -"

"Wait, Marcus?!" Gjalund breathed, his face growing in shock. He looked at the young man up and down. "Are you… 'the' Marcus?"

"Uh… probably?"

"The Dragonborn?"

"Yes."

Gjalund's eyes widened. "Divines… forgive me, Dragonborn. As much as I hate the notion, if you wish to go to Solstheim, I will take you and your… companion."

Marcus nodded in thanks. "Much obliged."

Gjalund walked off, and quickly began barking orders at the various sailors around the ship. Marcus looked at Serana and smiled. "See? There was no need for any intimidation."

Serana looked over at the captain, and gave a scowl. "Craven."

"He's just scared Serana, like most people would be."

"Hmm..." She looked around at the ship. It was a substantial thing, probably used to carrying a number of passengers, but it certainly was no luxury cruise ship. Her expression turned mournful. "How long do you think the trip will take?"

"Not sure. No more than a week."

Serana's face fell even more.

"Why the miserable look?"

She glanced at him morosely. "I… uh… how thick do you think the walls between rooms are on ships like these?"

His eyes twinkled with humor, correctly guessing the reason behind her question. "For the way you carry on? Not thick enough."

Serana let out a deflated sigh. An entire week on a ship, without the ability to indulge in her new favourite pastime. Marcus looked out over the water, chewing his lip with a sly smile as he eyed her out of the corner of his eye.

He continued, "That said, I have been experimenting with a few applications of my 'muffle' spell..."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Another late chapter, sorry. I don't really want this to become the norm, but University is just kicking my ass. Doing finals in 3 weeks, so uploads won't be any more frequent for a short while yet. Again, sorry.**

 **Won't be covering too much of the dungeon-crawling or combat in Dragonborn. Don't really see the point. I want to do a little more character development, besides Marcus growing a beard, and conserve my fight ideas for the final showdown.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	51. Dragonborn: Chapter 2

A Doom Driven Hero: Dragonborn Chapter 2 – Collective Amnesia

Marcus walked into Raven Rock with his head on a swivel. It was a very interesting place, to say the least. The buildings looked like round huts dug into the dirt, their structure indicating most of the interior was underground. Most of the citizens seemed to be dark elves, everyone bustling around taking care of their own business. The colour choices seemed rather drab though, in terms of clothing and most construction materials. Browns, greys and reds seemed to be prominent, matching the countryside that he'd seen on approach by sea.

Marcus felt something brush his cheek. He wiped it off, and looked at his hand. Ash. He looked around and realized with a jolt that it was snowing ash. The little flakes falling from the sky weren't ice at all.

"Strange, isn't it?" Serana muttered, walking up beside him. "A very… silent, drab place."

"Quite," Marcus replied, wiping the grey dust off his hand. "I'd imagine it'd be even more barren outside the town."

"Huh. I'm surprised my father didn't want to live here."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Well, by your standards, the volcano only erupted in recent history. Come on. That councilor pointed us towards the stone outside town, let's go check it out."

They made their way through the town in a few minutes. It wasn't a big place. Various residents looked at the pair with curiosity, but not hostility. They probably didn't get a whole lot of visitors, and Marcus doubted their attire made them look like a regular couple.

The 'Earth' stone outside Raven Rock was a tall, oblong stone standing about 4 or 5 metres tall in a small pool of murky water. Around it, a strange structure was halfway completed, with various people working on it with weary, yet unrelenting persistence.

The people working on the construction all seemed to be townsfolk, apart from one dark elf standing a little way away from them, watching with a professional curiosity. This dark elf wore a set of extravagant robes, with swirling gold patterns and rich red cloth. As Marcus and Serana approached, he turned around and fixed them with an interested look.

"You two… you don't seem to be in quite the same state as the others here… interesting."

Neloth examined the pair from a short distance, hand on his chin. He raised his eyebrows at Serana, then looked long and hard at Marcus. The young man crossed his arms and studied the dark elf in return. No-one said anything for a moment, the elf and the man discerning each other's abilities just from the telltale visuals only those of significant experience knew.

Marcus could tell rather easily that Neloth was an exceptionally powerful mage. His robes had a faint shimmer that spoke of enough enchanting magic crammed into them to raze a building to the ground, and his eyes spoke of frightening intelligence. This was someone who'd been a master of magic centuries before he'd even been born.

Neloth, in turn, could tell that Marcus was the single most dangerous individual he'd met since the Third Era.

Serana cleared her throat, breaking the spell over the two. "Um… hey, I'm Serana. This is Marcus. Do you know what those people are doing?" She gestured to the stone.

Neloth turned to look at the people slaving away at the strange structure. "Building something, clearly. And yet they don't seem to have much to say about it. I'm very interested to find out what happens when they finish."

"They look like they're enthralled." Marcus said, frowning. "Have you tried to stop them?"

"Certainly not!" Neloth exclaimed, almost taken aback. "Doing so would interfere with whatever is going on, and I would be unable to see how this all turns out."

"Huh." Marcus tilted his head to the side. _This guy must be so old he's become apathetic…_ "Well, I'm going to have a closer look."

Neloth shrugged. "That might be inadvisable, but… oh well."

Marcus walked over to the stone. The people working on it moved sluggishly, shuffling their feet as they walked. Their expressions were blank, like a someone who'd just woke up and was still feeling rather dopey. As he walked up to one of them, they spoke in a low, monotone voice.

"Our eyes once were blinded..."

"What?" Marcus asked.

The man who'd spoke didn't say anything further, though someone else nearby did.

"Now through him do we see..."

Marcus muttered, "What in the… This is really weird."

He walked up directly to the stone, looking at the markings on it. He didn't recognize it definitively, though it did look faintly similar to some nordic texts he'd seen in dungeons before. It was rather grubby though, with many etchings filled with ash.

Marcus reached out to rub some of the ash away.

* * *

"Marcus! Look at me!"

He opened his eyes blearily. A pretty woman with bright eyes was clutching him as he looked up at her with a blank expression. He sat up and turned his head to glance around at his surroundings. Equal parts confusion and curiosity slowly crept onto his face. He rubbed the back of his head.

"This is..." he began slowly, unsure of himself. "Where am I?"

"W… you don't remember?" The woman asked, her face switching to one of surprise.

He blinked at her. "Who are you? Why are you holding my shoulders so tight?"

Her face dropped, and her eyes widened with horror. "You… Marcus, it's me! What's happened?!"

He frowned. "Marcus? Is that my name? Wait… shouldn't I already know that?" Marcus' face shifted to complete confusion.

The the woman let go of him and spun around to face a Dark elf so fast her hair flicked about. "Neloth! What's happened to him?! Why can't he remember who I am?"

Neloth placed a hand under his chin in a calmly thoughtful pose, a stark contrast to the woman's stature which was becoming more stricken by the second.

He said, "He must be suffering from some kind of amnesia. Makes sense, I suppose, with the strength of the mind-altering magic he was just under the influence of. His mind would've been weakened when he forced himself away from the stone, in any event. Very fascinating..."

Marcus slowly stood up, scratching his head. He did a 360 to take in the area around him, looking rather bewildered. He glanced over at a large structure around a stone, and all the people working away at it. He walked up to one of them and tried to ask a few questions, but the person just replied with some strange rambling. He frowned again, and walked back over to the only two coherent individuals present.

'Neloth' was wearing very regal-looking attire. Long flowing robes, with multiple colours. The woman was different, wearing a red and black armor that seemed to almost look like a dress. She had very bright eyes, to the point they almost glowed, seemingly made brighter by her dark shoulder-length hair and pale skin. Her face and body looked… beautiful. Every feature symmetrical and well-shaped.

The woman's gaze switched between him and the dark elf a few times. "Please tell me this isn't permanent," she asked the dark-elf desperately.

"Relax my dear," Neloth held up his hands. "He clearly hasn't lost his mind, so there hasn't been any actual brain damage. I doubt it's permanent, but there's no telling how long it'll take for him to return to normal."

She looked devastated. She walked up to Marcus, and reached out to cup this side of his face forlornly. He took a step back to avoid her touch, surprised at the action. Her expression grew sadder.

She whispered sadly, "What did that thing do to you, Marcus?"

"What thing?" he asked back. "Where am I?"

"You're… you're on an island called Solstheim. You touched that large rock behind you, and it… it stole your memory."

"What?" Marcus exclaimed. He turned to look back at the stone. "I… I've lost my memory? Um… How do I get it back?"

Neloth cleared his throat. "There's an alchemist in Raven's Rock. She might be able help. But for the time being, would you mind answering a few questions for me?"

"What's a Raven's Rock?…" Marcus stared at him blankly.

"I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind." Neloth rubbed his hands together. "Do you remember anything about the stone behind you?"

"No."

"Are the words those other workers are chanting mean anything to you?"

"No."

"Do you know what the structure they're building is?"

"No."

"Does the name Miraak mean anything to you?"

"No."

Neloth frowned. Marcus' short, curt answers were most unhelpful. He clearly didn't know anything. Whatever magical effect broke when he forced himself away from the stone, it'd made him draw a complete blank. His entire memory had been wiped. The dark elf sighed, and went back over to watch the still enslaved workers building. Marcus was of no further use, so he was of no further mind.

The young woman reached forward and gently patted Marcus' shoulder, getting his attention. "Hey… so, can you come with me? We'll go back to the town just over there, and see if we can get your memory back."

"Um… Ok." Marcus nodded. "Sounds like a good plan."

They began walking. The woman kept glancing at Marcus with sad, worried expressions. Marcus was looking down at his person with a thoughtful frown. He could feel chainmail underneath his shirt, and there was two rather heavy blades hanging at his waist.

"I'm a very well-armed person," he said in a matter-of-fact way. He looked up at the girl as she was fixing him with another expression of anxious concern. "You also seem rather attached to me… um… Miss?"

"Serana." she said quietly. "My name is Serana."

Marcus nodded. "Serana. That's a nice name. So, are you a relative of mine or something…?"

"We..." she took a quick breath. "We're lovers."

"Oh… shit." Marcus' eyes went wide, and he stopped walking for a second. "You… you're serious?"

She looked at him, a myriad of feelings fighting for dominance on her face. She looked… afraid to hear whatever he had to say next, anticipating something that'd crush her spirits.

"Wow..." Marcus breathed, looking Serana up and down. "What did I do to earn the affections of someone as stunning as you?"

Serana blushed deep red, and a smile touched her face.

He asked, "How long have we been together?"

"A few months, technically."

"Wow..." Marcus mumbled again. He began glancing at Serana a lot more, then shaking his head in disbelief. He suddenly found he wanted his memory back a lot more, if he was missing out on several month's worth of memories with her.

The trip to the town didn't take long, and they found an alchemist quick enough. The dark elf woman, Milore, listened to Serana's desperate description of what happened and then asked Marcus a few questions about what he knew. Which was nothing, of course, aside from the fact he was apparently well-armed and in a romantic relationship an incredibly attractive woman.

Milore gave him a foul-tasting potion to drink, instructing him to sip it slowly over the course of an hour. The pair found a quiet spot overlooking the docks near the large wall that protected the eastern side of the town. Marcus sat down, grimacing every time he took a sip of the liquid. The alchemist lady had been fairly confident it'd work, so he hoped it was worth it. It had some complex name, made from a variety of ingredients. Marcus was concerned about how he'd pay for it, when he looked in one of his pouches to find a huge stack of coins and gemstones. Another surprise about the kind of person he apparently was.

"What's my occupation?" he asked Serana curiously.

She smiled a bit. "That's… That question has a rather complicated answer. You sure you want to know?"

"How bad can it be?"

"You fight and kill Dragons."

"What?"

"You also delve into dangerous, creepy dungeons, wipe out bandit encampments, exterminate vampire covens, and have saved the world twice."

"Ok, seriously." Marcus said, frowning. "It's hard enough not having a clue about who I am, without the fact being made fun of."

Serana chuckled. "I am being serious, believe me. It's… not very common, what you do."

"But… I just..." Marcus scratched the back of his head. It was ridiculous. It had to be. "How could I have done all of that, and survived?"

Serana looked sideways at him, a funny expression on her face. "I… I don't know the answer to that question. And… I don't think you would either, even if you had your memory."

Marcus looked at his feet, dangling just above the murky dock water. He took another sip of the potion and cringed. He couldn't remember the taste of enough things to describe it adequately, but it really sucked.

What Serana was saying explained a few things, he guessed. His strange bone weapons, his large amount of money, and why he was meddling with giant mind-controlling rocks. Still, saving the world twice… that was too much to believe.

"Is that why you're with me?" Marcus asked.

"Is what why?"

"Me saving the world. Is that why we're 'together'? Some kind of admiration?" Marcus couldn't think of another reason. He could see his reflection in the water between his legs. He was nothing special.

Serana laughed. "Goodness no. I'm not impressed so easily. No, I'm with you because…" she fidgeted a little. "You complete me."

Marcus started a little. "That's… Um… wow." He didn't really know what to say, or how to react. Aside from her beauty, he didn't know a whole lot about her. What kind of person was he, in terms of why he'd decided to be with her? Were the reasons purely physical, or did she fill a void in him similar to like she was saying he did for her? It was confusing.

Wishing to change the subject, Marcus took another sip of the drink and cleared his throat. "So, how did I save the world?"

"The first time was from the most powerful Dragon in existence, and the second time was… from a very powerful vampire clan."

"Which one was tougher? Alduin or the vampire clan?"

Serana shrugged, "Depends, I think you… wait, you just said Alduin."

She turned to look at him, eyes widening with hope. Marcus blinked a few times. Alduin. The firstborn of Akatosh. He'd fought the Dragon in Sovngarde.

The young man looked at the potion in his hands. "Well I'll be. Looks like it's working."

* * *

Marcus was huddled up on the edge of the bed, a rapidly deteriorating fingernail pressed against his teeth as a form of anxious expression. His head felt muddled and tired. Most of his memory had returned... the important bits anyway... but it'd left him with a bad headache. He'd normally be asleep by now, and it wasn't due to the difference in bed designs that Raven Rock had. Serana could feel the worry emanating from his side… his slightly too-fast breathing, his tiny shifts under the sheets, mumbles that no-one without enhanced hearing would be able to listen to. She didn't know what she should say, to broach the topic. She didn't know why, but she was certain he was scared about something.

Serana was wrong, though. Marcus wasn't scared, he was terrified.

He'd come very, very close to losing Serana. But not in the conventional sense. Neither of them had nearly died, but such a thing could arguably be better than what nearly occurred.

When Marcus lost his memory, he'd lost every memory and thought relating to Serana. He'd treated her like a stranger. If he hadn't regained his senses he could've abandoned her and gone off back to Skyrim, to live out a dreary life. He'd come so, so close to never realizing she'd been in his life at all.

And it freaked him out really bad. The idea of consciously removing her from his life, not knowing the significance of doing so, almost gave rise to the onset of a panic attack. Marcus didn't know if Serana had thought that would happen, but he couldn't imagine how badly it would've affected her if she had. He'd won the ultimate game of chance when, for whatever goddamn reason, she had grown to love him in the same way he loved her… and he never wanted to let go of that.

"Hey," Serana said softly, snuggling up to his back. Marcus instantly felt much of his anxiety melt away.

"Hey..." he replied, turning over so he could face her. Serana's black hair was haphazardly strewn about her head. The messiness made her look cute. He reached forward and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She said, "Something's bothering you. Is it about losing your memory?"

Marcus sighed, then nodded slowly. He turned and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "It was too close… too damn close. I shouldn't have to rely on luck for these things. Staying by your side should be such a certainty that fate never dictates its permanency. Everything we've shared… I nearly lost that."

"I know..." Serana smiled sadly. She rested her head in the little curve of his shoulder and neck. "But you didn't. You came back."

"If this journey keeps holding our relationship in the balance, I'm not sure if I can see it through…"

"You always see it through, Marcus… only this time, I'm along for the ride."

He breathed out, traces of a smile on his lips at her stubborn responses. He knew she was just trying to make him feel better. Her voice was laced with hints of worry herself. Her lips were pressed together a little more than normal.

Marcus placed his hands on his chest, clasped together. "In the past it was easier, you know? Just me and my abilities, carving through the world without a care. Now… I've got another, better reason to stick around. You."

"Aww..." Serana smiled, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"It just seems like this place in the world I've sculpted for myself, it just… doesn't mesh well with anything else." Marcus breathed in and out heavily. "I don't know what to do."

"We can't control everything, Marcus. Even you, with all your abilities and knowledge can't change that."

"Yeah..." he mumbled, a few thoughts popping up in his head. Marcus knew he couldn't control everything, but what's to say he couldn't control a few select things? And who's to say what those select few things were?

What exactly did he have control over in his life?

Marcus looked down at Serana, lying next to him. "I still wonder how you fell in love with me. Surely now, you see the mess you've wrapped yourself in?"

She smiled. "Of course. You're an overly speculative, deeply self-critical, whirlwind of death with as much control over his emotions as a grain of sand over the tide."

Marcus blinked. _That's a_ _bit harsh_ _,_ he thought. _Not entirely inaccurate though._

Serana continued. "Moreover, I knew that not long after we first met."

"Then why did you fall in love with me?" Marcus frowned in confusion, reiterating his question.

"I said I knew your flaws. I didn't say that you weren't worth it despite them."

Marcus looked into her glowing eyes for a few seconds, feeling his chest warm from her words. "You… you're literally perfect, you know that?"

Serana hugged him again. "So trust me when I say that there's some things not worth worrying about."

Marcus wrapped her arms around her, and pulled her closer. As the unease in the pit of his stomach lifted, he gently pressed his cheek against her forehead in an intimate gesture as they both drifted to sleep.

* * *

"Looks like the structure around the stone, doesn't it?" Serana mused.

"Yeah..." Marcus chewed his lip. He fiddled with the handle of his sword, a testament to his anxiety. The area around Miraak's temple showed signs of renovation, with scaffolding and stone pillars being raised all around. He was scared, seeing as the last time he'd been around something like this he'd lost his memory.

Still, the fact that an age-old temple was being rebuilt was a good indication they were on the right track. Miraak certainly had a presence in Solstheim, and was working on making that presence larger. Trouble was, Marcus had done a bit of reading before he'd left Raven Rock to learn a little more about his quarry, and what he'd found out brought no end of furrowing to his brow.

Miraak was dead. He'd been dead for thousands of years.

This wasn't the first time someone or something of ill intent had returned after discarding their mortal coil, but none had quite the same history as Miraak. He dropped off the map around the first Era, under very ambiguous circumstances. Why he hadn't been seen or heard of since, and why he suddenly was so prevalent in Solstheim raised some important questions. So important, that Marcus had come to Miraak's temple, even though he was scared out of his mind that he'd lose it again.

The pair walked up to the top of the structure, looking for an entrance of sorts. They heard the clang of metal on stone – the telltale sound of more enthralled workers. As they got closer, they heard a different sound, as the voice of a woman in distress rang out near the entrance.

Marcus and Serana made their way up the boardwalks, to the strange basin-shaped top of the temple. Down below, next to a group of enthralled workers wearing heavy fur coats, was a woman in armor.

She had sandy blonde hair, and there were two war axes hanging off her hip. She clutched one of the workers in fur and almost shouted at them.

"Ysra! Can you hear hear me?!"

The worker stared blankly back at her, waiting for the woman to release them so they could return to their mindless toil. Marcus and Serana walked down towards her. She heard them coming, and turned warily. Her hands strayed close to the handles of her axes. They seemed to be made of some strange kind of stone. A deep, crystal blue.

Marcus had to stop his eyes widening a token when he got closer to the woman. She was gorgeous, as much as he irrationally felt it was unfaithful to think so. Her hair was braided ornately, yet practically, to keep it out of her face. Her figure, even though mostly hidden under armor, was shapely and muscular. Her skin was pale like most nords, with a few barely perceptible freckles across her upper cheeks, and two piercing blue eyes a shade darker than the colour of her axes. Her facial structure was more angular than most other nords, giving her a striking look. Maybe she had a bit of elf somewhere in her ancestry? Marcus wouldn't have been surprised.

He realized he'd been staring for a few seconds, then cleared his throat to say something. The woman beat him to it.

"You two. What brings you to this place? Why are you here?"

Serana stepped forward to reply, a smidgen hostile. She'd seen the brief look in Marcus' eyes. "You first."

"I am Frea of the Skaal," she said. "I am here to either save my people or avenge them."

Marcus frowned. "Save them from what?"

Frea hesitated. "I am… unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people on Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the stones, and the very land itself. My father Storn, our Shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible."

"Cause he's dead." Marcus finished for her.

Frea nodded. "Quite. Now, my first question?"

"I'm Marcus, this is Serana." He gestured to both of them. "Miraak tried to have me killed. We seek to ensure it doesn't happen again."

The nordic warrior placed a hand on her chin. "I see. Then we share a goal to see what lies beneath us. Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here. The tree stone and my friends are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below."

"Ok." Marcus nodded. "Sorry about your friends, by the way."

"They are not dead, so I don't believe they are lost."

"Good ethic to have," Marcus mused, walking about the stone platform and looking for any way to reach the interior of the temple below. He looked at some more markings on the floor, shaped in a wide circular design. It was strange… unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Dark black stone, and lots of swirled carvings. Another one of those stones stood in the centre of the platform. Marcus didn't go near it.

He called out to Frea, a short way away. "What do you know about Miraak?"

She walked over, keeping her eyes fixed on the various spires and markings around the area. "His story is as old as Solstheim itself. He served the Dragons before they fell from power, like many. He was a priest, in their order."

"A Dragon priest?" Marcus blinked. "Huh."

"But unlike most, he turned against them. He made his own path, and his actions cost him dearly. The stories say he sought to claim Solstheim for himself, and the dragons destroyed him for it."

Marcus stood up and held his hands out in a 'hold up' gesture. "Wait, he turned against the Dragons? Are you kidding me? You have any idea how devout Dragon priests are?"

"I can only imagine," Frea shook her head. "But it's what my father told me, and he's never been wrong. Miraak must have had a very important reason to betray them."

"Goodness..." Marcus muttered. _How deep does this rabbit hole go?_

A creaking noise filled the air, and a section of the platform sunk into the ground, revealing a walkway stretching down. Walking up from it, three cultists appeared, deep in discussion. When they say the three others standing about around the temple, the conversation ceased immediately. Marcus, Frea and Serana all stared at the cultists, who stared back in turn.

"Uh..." Marcus thought quickly. "Our hands were once idle…?"

"For Lord Miraak!" One of them shouted, drawing his weapon. The others followed suit, and charged at the trio.

Marcus sighed, and drew his weapons. One female cultist charged at him, the other two each attacking Frea and Serana respectively. The young man waited as the cultist ran at him, her sword raised. He held his own loosely by his side. The cultist fired a firebolt at him as she ran, and Marcus didn't even bother raising a ward. Lifting his sword slightly, he caught the spell on the flat of his blade, where it flared and burst harmlessly. He still hadn't moved his feet.

The female cultist raised her sword in a two-handed grip as she got close, intent on bringing it down on his unprotected head. It was almost too easy.

Marcus took a single step forward, and slightly to the left of the woman. His sword flickered out like a snake's tongue towards her neck. Then he simply brushed past her at a casual walking pace, leaving her sword to swing down into empty air, then promptly drop to the ground as the woman suddenly clutched her throat with both hands, emitting a gurgling noise as blood rushed out between her fingers. She dropped to the ground in a rapidly widening pool of crimson.

A short way away, Frea blocked the downward strike of the second cultist with one of her axes, then slashed the other across their chest. He dropped to his knees, and she sunk the second axe into his collarbone, nearly splitting him to his sternum.

Behind her, Serana fired a pair of ice spears at the third cultist, one slightly delayed after the other. The man dodged the first, and stepped directly into the path of the second. It caught him in the upper chest, spinning him and forcing him to do a little pirouette before dropping to the ground.

Frea breathed out, and nodded at Marcus and Serana's handiwork. "You two fight well."

"We've had practice." Marcus smiled, the nodded at the entrance that'd been opened up. "Let's not dawdle. I want to see what secrets Miraak is hiding."

* * *

"All-maker..." Frea muttered, taking a step towards the podium. "What is that?"

Marcus sheathed his sword and walked up to the book. It was a huge thing, almost the size of a wagon wheel. It was a deep black, with dark yellowed pages that had grown tattered by the passage of time. The lower section of the temple had next to no enemies in it, and the architecture had grown increasingly strange, culminating in this final room with nothing but a book in it.

"Do you feel that?" Serana whispered to him.

He nodded. "The aura. I do."

Marcus took another step toward it. The book gave off a feeling that turned his stomach with discomfort. It reminded him off the darker daedric artifacts he'd come across in his travels… that same twisted, otherworldly magic emanating from it.

Frea breathed out. "This book… it seems wrong, somehow. Here, and yet… not."

"You think it's what we're looking for?" Marcus queried. "Will it explain how Miraak is controlling these people?"

"It was placed at the bottom of this temple for a reason," Frea stated. "I believe so."

"Ok." Marcus breathed out, steeling himself. He reached for the book. Serana stopped him.

"Hold on," she said quickly. "You sure you want to do this? The last time you touched something ominous..."

He sighed, nodding. "I know, Serana. But regardless, Frea is needed by her people, and I'm sure as Oblivion not letting you touch it. Plus, we know that I can at least be brought back from whatever mind-altering magic Miraak has." He gave her a brief smile. "I'm sure it'll be fine. It's just a book."

Marcus picked up and opened the large black book, the age almost making the pages creak. As soon as it was open, huge black tentacles burst from the page and wrapped around his neck. With a huge tug, he was pulled off his feet and into the churning inky darkness that'd become the pages of the book.

* * *

The air felt warm, and smelt vaguely like oil. Marcus opened his eyes, and saw a world of green and black. The sky was a churning mix of green and black, with huge tentacles the size of castles hanging down from the centre of larger black spots. The ground was made of cracked tiles, and there were strange spires and structures around the platform he stood on with more in the far distance. The entire place felt wrong.

But that wasn't what immediately drew Marcus' attention. There were four figures in front of him. One was a large, pale-blue dragon with the head of a snake. Two were strange, floating monsters made of a mixture of fur and flailing tentacles. The fourth was a man, in dark green robes adorned with plates of gold. They were all facing away from him, distracted.

The man spoke first, seemingly speaking to the two monsters. "The time comes soon when… wait..."

Marcus had his sword halfway out of its sheathe by the time the man turned around. He could see the golden mask the man wore now, and he knew at once who it was. Miraak. Who else would wear something so similar to a Dragon priest mask, yet so distant?

Marcus drew his sword fully and began running at the man. Miraak's shoulders hunched as he got into a combat stance, and sparks flared in the palms of his hands. Marcus had no time to fully charge his ward before a dual-cast thunderbolt slammed into it, and shattered it with the sound of breaking glass.

The force made Marcus falter mid-stride, the full kinetic energy traveling up his arms and nearly making his shoulder pop out of its socket. This gave Miraak enough time to draw his own sword, and raise it overhead to block the dragonbone blade arcing downwards. It was made of a strange metal, which almost seemed molten in the way its colours broiled like murky water.

"Who are you to dare set foot here?" Miraak demanded, his face only inches from Marcus'.

"You should know," Marcus replied with a hard glare, "You're the one that tried to have me killed."

Miraak kicked Marcus in the chest with immense strength, knocking him backwards several metres.

"I have lots of people killed," Miraak retorted, walking forward. "You'll have to be more specif-Ah..." The sound of dawning understanding crept into his voice. "You are Dragonborn… I can feel it."

"Yeah," Marcus spat, lifting himself off the ground and standing up again. "So you really should've sent more than a few brainwashed idiots to put me in the ground… Yol, Tor Shul!"

A ring of fire burst from Marcus and slammed into Miraak. The force made the man stagger backwards as the flames washed over him, but after they passed there was little more than a few burn marks on his robes to indicate anything had happened at all.

Then Miraak laughed, as if the shout was little more than a passing breeze of warm air. He straightened up to his full height, and held his sword out in front of him, pointed at Marcus. "A brazen voice, no doubt, but your Thu'um is little more than a greeting to me, wyrmling."

The blade of Miraak's sword turned black, and became round. In a split second, it grew into a 5 metre long tentacle and flicked out to stab Marcus in the chest and fling him backwards like he'd been batted away by the hand of a God.

Marcus smacked into the ground, sliding a few metres and leaving a faint red smear along the ground. His chest sported a gaping wound like someone had dug a huge spoonful of flesh off the surface. He coughed, the violent movement wracking his chest in pain and spraying his chin with blood. With one arm his clutched his bleeding chest, and used the other to prop himself up a little, facing back toward Miraak. Marcus' eyes blazed with pained fury.

"Ah… such a fiery young spirit." Miraak mused, taking a few steps toward the prone man. "I can see how you defeated Alduin, young Dragonborn. I could have slain him myself, back when I walked the earth, but I chose a different path."

"The fuck you could've," Marcus rasped, gritting his bloody teeth. "The Dragons wiped the floor with your ass. Why do you think your temple needs to be rebuilt?"

"Hmph," Miraak folded his arms. "That matters not anymore. I have grown beyond my past self, and certainly beyond you… Marcus Davion Lavernius. You have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield."

Marcus coughed again, trying to heal the wound in his chest. The golden restoration magic sparked at his fingertips, and slowly began to close the hole in his chest. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Miraak made a small noise that sounded like a chuckle. Then he breathed in. "Mul… Qah Diiv!"

Rays of light similar to the kind that flowed from a dead Dragon's corpse rushed out of Miraak, collecting at his feet for half a second, then rushed back towards him and attached to places on his body. The light reshaped itself into pieces of gold and blue ethereal armour around his head, chest and arms. The likeness of the armour was draconic, with tall horns and barbs.

Still chuckling, Miraak stepped towards Marcus and grabbed him by the throat. He raised the young man up, one handed, until his feet left the ground. The restoration magic Marcus had been working spluttered out as he began to choke and lost concentration. The wound in his chest began bleeding again, not having had nearly enough time to heal.

Miraak tilted his head to the side condescendingly. "This realm is beyond you. You have no power here."

Marcus' fingers scrabbled uselessly at the gloves clutching his neck in an iron grip. He tried to swear at the man, but his half-crushed throat didn't allow for it. He raised his left hand, fire spreading in the palm of his hand as he charged a spell. Miraak noticed, and with his other hand reached up to grab Marcus' fingers. With a sharp squeeze, he crushed the bones in that entire hand. Marcus tried to scream, but there was no air in his lungs to do so.

"It's only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine, followed by everything else on Nirn." Mirrak continued, a grin seeping into his voice "I already control the minds of its people, and when they soon finish building my temple, I can return home. Nothing will change that, least of all you."

He dropped Marcus to the ground. The young man collapsed onto the stone floor, heaving in weak breaths through his bruised, constricted airway. Miraak walked dismissively away, towards the large serpentine Dragon.

"Send him back where he came from. He can await my return with the rest of Tamriel."

The pair of floating, grey-green monsters moved towards him. Marcus pushed at the ground, reaching forward and grabbing his sword before attempting to stand up. He got to his knees before the two monsters seemed to 'push' at the air toward him, and rings of bright green lightning rushed out of their bodies to envelop him.

As the energy hit him, Marcus felt his body become wracked with a pain similar to being burned and sprayed with acid at the same time. He collapsed against the ground, feeling oblivion enroaching on his senses. The monsters continued to fire the lightning at him, the waves of energy washing over his body again and again, the pain driving his vision blurry.

The last thing Marcus saw before his battered body sent his mind into darkness was Miraak, climbing onto the neck of the serpentine Dragon and taking off toward the churning green skies.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Very late upload, I know, but final exams are literally on top of me right now. I'll be done in a week, so expect next chapter to be out sooner at least. I'm toying with the idea of Frea jumping on the Marcus 'bandwagon' as it where (hehehe), seeing as she's one of the few characters in the game with any decent writing, but that might be uncharacteristic given Marcus and Serana's relationship.**

 **I'm also a bit uncertain about the time periods where everything regarding Miraak/Neloth happened. It's a bit ambiguous, I've found, so expect minor inconsistencies here and there.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	52. Dragonborn: Chapter 3

A Doom Driven Hero: Dragonborn Chapter 3 – Third Time's a Charm

Marcus awoke in a pleasant wooden cottage. The beams above him criss-crossed in a symmetrical fashion, coloured the deep brown of aged oak. The air was pleasantly warm, and he could hear the faint crackle of a fire. He tried to sit up, but his muscles felt very stiff and his chest flared in pain whenever he moved.

 _This happens way too often,_ Marcus thought forlornly to himself.

He craned his head from side to side, taking in his surroundings. He was in a small yet comfortable hut, big enough for a table, a bed, and a chest. To his right was a stone fireplace, with a single log burning slowly over glowing embers. To his left was Serana. She was slumped up against the side of his bed, seated in a chair.

She was dozing softly, indicating she'd been there for quite a while. Someone had placed a blanket over her shoulders, and she'd unconsciously wrapped it around herself a little more. He surge of warmth in his chest seeing her like that, by his side until she'd probably dropped into a deep slumber from tiredness. Then he felt a pang of sadness at having put her through such an ordeal.

It was always easy for him. Time passes differently when you're unconscious, and not just asleep. When you're sleeping, most people get a distinct sense of time having passed, albeit in a rather disconnected fashion. When you're unconscious, there was no sensation of the passage of time. It was just oblivion, until you wake up.

So Marcus had no idea how long he'd been in that bed, recovering. He hadn't waited like Serana had, he didn't have to experience any of the anxiety or stress. He hated it, how easy it was for him to just remain 'off' until he was ready, while she worried about him.

"Hey," Marcus said softly, gently touching her arm.

Serana stirred awake, her sleepy eyes fluttering. As they opened properly and she saw him conscious, she instantly rushed forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then she promptly half-smothered him in a long kiss.

"You've got to stop doing this to me," she said with a half-smile, once they'd broken apart.

Marcus gave a sly grin. "When you give me a kiss like that every time it happens, you don't help your argument."

She sighed, and sat back in the chair. Marcus gestured with one of his hands to the building around them.

He asked, "Where are we?"

"Frea's village," Serana explained, "They had a spare hut for you, seeing as much of their village is 'enthralled' elsewhere. After you read that book you seemingly got sucked inside the thing. A few minutes later it spat you out, unconscious and half-dead. Frea lead the way out, while I carried you."

"I see." Marcus nodded. "I'm sorry."

Serana smiled. "It wasn't easy."

He frowned. "I'm not that heavy. In any event you're twice as strong as I am, and I can flip a carriage."

"I wasn't complaining about the weight." Serana said, a token quieter. "You ever had to carry the silent, dead-weight body of someone you care about?"

Marcus went silent. A few memories drifted through his mind. Lydia. Erik.

"A few times," he said somberly. "I wish I hadn't put you through it."

"What happened in that book?"

Marcus breathed in, then began explaining. The world, the creatures, and Miraak. He hesitated when he got to their fight.

"He was…" Marcus let out a breath of air. "There's no other way to put this… He's Dragonborn."

"What?!" Serana exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. The air around him teemed with energy, and he practically tossed me about like a doll. Then there was the shout he used… I have no doubt."

"By my blood..." She breathed. "Another Dragonborn? I thought you were supposed to be the last?"

"I still am, in a way." Marcus shrugged. "Miraak is most likely one of the really early ones, I'm guessing, and he's somehow avoided death."

"The leader of these people will want to hear this." Serana said. "And as much as I hate to force you up, it seems their time is running short. Can you walk?"

"I think so. Gimme a hand."

Marcus leaned forward and grasped her arm firmly, and she helped him climb out of bed and get onto his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, but got his bearings quickly.

"Breathing hurts," he complained, attempting a stretch but only getting halfway through before he began to get fuzzy vision from the pain.

"Lean on me more," Serana said, wrapping an arm around his upper back and supporting him. "It's not far outside."

The pair slowly walked outside, into the cold snowy air. A few metres outside was a small triangle formed by three nords in thick fur coats, with a strange pillar of watery air rising out the ground between them. Craning his neck up, Marcus could see that the pillar formed some kind of semi-transparent dome around the village.

Speaking of which, Frea's hometown wasn't particularly big. It was more of a tribe. A small cluster of wooden buildings, with a well and a forge in the middle. It looked… cosy, though. It had a close-knit, simple vibe. Homely, even.

Frea was leaning against a tanning rack a short way away. She quickly came over.

"You're up sooner than I expected," she stated.

Marcus smiled, and gestured with his head to his bandaged chest. "This? This is nothing. I'm just warming up."

The nord warrior raised an eyebrow. "Come, we must speak to my father, Storn."

She led Marcus and Serana over to the triangle of people. One of them, the oldest man there, looked up.

"I see the traveler has awoken." Storn spoke in a gravelly voice. "Do you have news from the temple other than what my daughter told me? Is there a way to free my people?"

Marcus shook his head. "Not exactly, though I know the source of the problem. A man named Miraak."

Storn hung his head. "I feared that would be so."

Frea started, then shook her head in confusion. "But how is that possible? After all this time?"

"There is too much we do not yet know." Storn sighed. He looked weary. If he'd been maintaining this barrier since before Frea had even left for the temple…

 _Akatosh…_ Marcus thought, growing amazed. _How many days since he's even slept? Since any of them have?_

Storn turned his head to face him. "How did you find out Miraak is behind our struggle?"

"I read a book," Marcus said, rubbing his chest unconsciously where he'd been injured. "It took me to some… place. A plane of Oblivion, it felt like. Miraak was there."

Storn looked sideways at the ground. "I see… legends speak of that temple, and that there was something buried beneath it worse than the Dragons that razed it to the ground. What you say confirms those legends, and my fears. Miraak was never truly gone, and now has returned."

"Gods..." Frea breathed.

"If you could go to this place, and see him..." Storn looked at Marcus with growing hope. "Are you like Miraak? Are you Dragonborn?"

The young man nodded. "Yes. I am."

Frea's eyes dawned with understanding. "So that's how you were able to use those shouts in the temple?" Her eyes shifted to annoyance. "You told me you were just a fast learner..."

"Hey, I was just protecting a few secrets." Marcus shrugged apologetically. "And on this island at least, being Dragonborn hasn't seemed to be the most popular occupation."

"You must be connected to him, in that case," Storn continued, ignoring Marcus' quip. "The stories say he too was Dragonborn."  
"I know," Marcus rubbed his throat where Miraak had gripped him with inhuman strength. "But what do you mean, connected?"

Storn looked hesitant. "I am unsure. It may mean you could save us, or it could mean that you will bring about our destruction."

Marcus and Serana shared a concerned glance at this.

The old man looked up again, the hesitation fading. "But that doesn't matter right now. Our time is running out. We cannot protect ourselves for much longer. You must go to Saering's Watch, and learn the word that Miraak learned there long ago. It will give you the same knowledge over the stones as he has."

"How will that free your people?"

"The structures being built around the shrines corrupts the mind. I believe if they can be destroyed, the 'trance' that has befallen the workers will be lifted."

"Well, I guess it's all we've got." Marcus chewed his lip. "Very well. I'll set out immediately."

"Marcus," Serana frowned. "You're barely standing upright as-is. Maybe you should take a little more time before we go off again."

"Nonsense." He waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. I'll walk it off."

The young man headed off to find his equipment, leaving Serana standing next to Frea with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and proud.

Frea frowned at him. "He's either an exceptional warrior or a fool. Is he always like that?"

"Yep." Serana nodded with a grudging smile. "It's kind of his best and worst trait at the same time."

"Do you think he'll be able to do it? Save my people?"

Serana nodded. "If he can't, no-one can."

"I'm guessing you two are…?"

"Lovers. Yes."

Frea nodded quickly. "Of course. How long have you two known each other?"

"A few months."

She blinked. "Really? That's… not very long. Not by our standards at least."

Serana frowned. "By normal Skyrim standards, it's longer than normal."

"Hmmm…" Frea shrugged. "Well, we Skaal are rather old-fashioned. It just seems odd to… be at that stage within months of meeting, especially when you aren't yet married."

"Well..." Serana fidgeted a little. She felt uncomfortable discussing it. "Those few months were incredibly busy..."

Frea held up her hands apologetically. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to justify yourself. I'll go join my father. We will pray for your safe return."

Frea walked off to kneel beside her father and provide her strength to the small ritual they were doing, leaving Serana to second-guess herself.

* * *

"What do you think Storn meant about me?" Marcus asked Serana as they walked through the snowy landscape.

She turned to face him, the wind whipping her dark hair about. "You mean how you might bring about their destruction?"

"Hmm."

Serana shrugged. "He didn't say it was a certainty. You should keep in mind you're exceptionally powerful. It could be more that you 'can' do that, even though you never will."

Marcus chewed his lip. "Not knowingly perhaps."

"If that happens and you do unintentionally hurt them, then it couldn't have been avoided."

"But..."

"How are you supposed to stop something you are unaware of?" Serana asked him.

"I..." Marcus sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know."

She smiled and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. "You've got to stop worrying about the things you can't control, Marcus."

He breathed out. "You're right. Of course." He looked up. "We've reached the top of the mountain. We must be close."

Serana nodded, and the pair drew their weapons, moving closer to the nordic ruins in the distance.

* * *

The Dragon let out one last roar, and collapsed to the ground. Marcus made sure to dive out of the way so he wasn't crushed under its falling head. His robed armour was covered in black blood from where he'd slashed open the wyrm's throat. Serana walked up behind him, discharging the lightning bolt she'd prepared in her hand. Against Dragons, she always felt like a spectator with Marcus around.

Not that she was necessarily complaining. She hadn't had enough chances to watch him take down a Dragon, and seeing him in his natural state was always impressive. He moved with a fluidity and sense of confidence that made her… excited.

Marcus stood up, and watched the corpse of the beast begin to burn. A moment later, he frowned. "Something's wrong."

The body lit up like a bonfire, the energies released, but they didn't move towards Marcus. The dragon soul flowed out of the creature's body, to a spot directly behind him. The pair turned to see it being absorbed by someone else. Miraak.

Marcus didn't hesitate. As soon as he saw the man his dagger was wrenched out of its sheathe and flung through the air, but to no avail. The blade sailed harmlessly through the space that housed Miraak's head. The man wasn't actually present.

"It takes a strong will to command a Dragon's soul." Miraak said, his voice half-humored. "Perhaps you aren't as powerful as you think."

"You bastard." Serana growled, sparks dancing between her fingers. "Face us properly."

"In time, vampire queen." Miraak turned to face her. "Hermaeus Mora has told me much about both of you, and unlike your relationship, I will not be rushed."

"Either fight me again or disappear, Miraak." Marcus spat. "But do not waste our time with petty insults."

"Are you sure you'd want to cross blades again? Even if I could travel to Tamriel physically? Your wounds from our first encounter haven't even healed."

"You won't lay a hand on him." Serana seethed, taking a step forward between Miraak and Marcus.

Miraak chuckled, and placed a hand to his chin in a thoughtful pose, "Your wench is surprisingly loyal, Dragonborn. I had wondered how you could be content with a Daedra's seconds."

Serana emitted a guttural sound, her hands turned white as she clenched them into fists. She started towards Miraak but Marcus restrained her form behind.

"Don't indulge him." He said softly. "Don't give him what he wants."

Serana gave another growl, her body twitching dangerously. But she began to calm down.

"Hah!" Miraak gave a short bark of laughter. "Did I strike a nerve?"

"We're leaving." Marcus stated, grabbing the enraged Serana by the shoulders and attempting to pull her away.

"Farewell kinslayer." Miraak said, inclining his head with mock respect. "We will meet again soon."

Marcus retrieved his dagger, then turned back and pointed at him in disgust, "Kinslayer? You fought the Dragons too, hypocrite. I'm just a lot more successful in the endeavor."

Miraak tilted his head to the side. "Who said I was talking about the Dragons?"

Marcus froze. Miraak faded out of reality, leaving him and Serana in silence atop the mountain. They remained still for a moment.

"I want to kill him." Serana said in a low, dangerous voice. "I want to rip him apart, limb by limb."

"I do too." Marcus said, almost surprising himself. "But nothing can be done right now. The best way to hurt him is by stopping his plans in Soltheim. Let's go back to Frea's village, see if we can't free her people."

He took a deep breath. "Then we'll find a way to get him within arm's reach, and this time we'll both be ready."

* * *

Frea looked nervous. Understandably so, Marcus reasoned. The fate of her village rested on him and his use of the shout. Storn himself wasn't certain that it'd work, but it was all they had. Marcus hoped the single word was enough.

It made him anxious, seeing the direct effect his actions could take. When Marcus 'saved' the world from dragons and vampires, there hadn't been any instant display of how things changed… how they improved. It'd all been in the background. He'd heard of dragon or vampire attacks less, seen fewer burnt farmsteads, seen less nervous townsfolk. He'd never actually stood beside someone and prepared to perform an action that'd either save or damn them. It was like stage fright, in a sense. The fear of underperforming.

As though she'd sensed his worry, Marcus felt Serana's fingers intertwine with his. He looked over, and she gave him a smile. He suddenly wanted to press his face against hers and kiss her passionately, but felt that with Frea standing so close by it'd be inappropriate.

Instead, he let go of Serana's hand and walked forward towards the wind stone. The five Skaal villagers were toiling away at the archways built around it, oblivious to their presence. Not for much longer, hopefully.

Marcus took a deep breath. The moment of truth. "Gol!"

An orange ring of energy, ringed with tinges of red, burst from him and slammed into the stone. Almost immediately the arches of the structure around the stone glowed red hot, with cracks filled with what seemed like liquid fire criss-crossing them. A second later the entire thing exploded, leaving only the central stone standing.

Marcus was about to say something expressing his relief when his voice was drowned out by a gurgling roar. The inky black water around the stone began to bubble and broil. Out of the centre of the churning liquid, a large black, chitinous monster arose.

It was a suitably terrifying creature, like some twisted God had meshed together a giant, a fish, and a Chaurus, and then given it a mouth full of tentacles. It reared to its full height, which was about the same as a building, and emitted another blood-curdling roar.

"Ah… shit." Marcus bit his lip, sizing the creature up.

"All Maker!" cried Frea in horror, drawing her axes.

The seemingly enraged monster swung one of its arms and smacked the closest one of the dazed Skaal workers that'd previously been slaving away on the stone. The force of the blow picked them up and flung them a few metres into the stone itself. They hit it with a sharp crack. A faint red smear was left on the carved surface.

"Wulf!" Frea shouted, running over to the man's aid.

The monster turned to swipe at Frea as she ran past it, but a fireball smacked into the side of its head and momentarily stunned it. It turned towards the source, Marcus, just in time to cop another fireball to the same spot.

"Help Frea get those people out!" Marcus shouted to Serana, pointing at the half-asleep Skaal stumbling around through the murky water surrounding the stone. "I'll draw its attention!"

Serana nodded grimly, and darted off towards the closest Skaal worker.

 _Ok,_ Marcus thought to himself. _Let's see what Miraak's underlings can do._

He drew his sword and ran forward. The creature lurched toward him, raising a leg as he got closer and slamming it into the ground. From around its foot, a litany of tentacles burst upwards and lashed out at Marcus, trying to pierce through his clothes and impale the flesh underneath. The young man dodged most of them, and slashed the remaining few that he couldn't before they could harm him.

The monster was right in front of Marcus now. It swung a spiked arm at him, but he dropped to his knees and the limb went sailing past his head. As he slid along the icy ground between its legs he reached out with his sword and sliced the back of its right leg open, hoping that its anatomy was vaguely similar to a humanoid's and he'd just severed some important tendons. If that was the case, it'd drop to one knee and give him easier access to its head and neck, where a few well-placed stabs could bring it down.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

Continuing the swinging momentum of its arm, the monster spun around and smacked Marcus in the side. He felt a rib break as the ebony chainmail did nothing to protect him from the blunt force, and slid along the ground a few metres. He looked up and gritted his teeth in anger. With his left hand he released a blast of restoration magic through him, both healing the injuries and giving him a boost of stamina. Then with the same hand he reached down and pulled out his dagger, flinging it at the approaching monster as he stood up.

Marcus' aim was true, and the broad-bladed dagger spun through the space separating the two foes before sinking into its eye. Luckily, the anatomy of the creature was similar enough to a humanoid that the presence of the blade lodged in its skull created a suitable amount of pain.

The monster reared up, bending backwards slightly as it roared in pain and anger at the sky. Marcus, still sprinting, saw an opportunity and breathed in deeply.

"Fus, Ro Dah!"

The Thu'um filled the crisp snowy air with a crash of thunder and the sound of snow being upheaved from the ground. The blue energy smacked into the monster and transferred enough force that its centre of mass was pushed ever-so-slightly further backwards, which combined with its current sky-roaring position, made it lose its balance.

With a surprised grunt, the dark beast fell onto its back with a hard crash, and its long arms scrabbled at the ground in an effort to get back onto its feet. It didn't get the chance.

Marcus leaped over the creature's knees and landed on its chest, before practically throwing himself at its neck and grasping his sword in both hands. With the full weight of his body, his momentum, and his strength, the dragonbone blade crunched through the chitin armor protecting the creature's chin, and sank deep into its skull.

It shuddered and gurgled, spluttering foul-smelling blood onto Marcus' face, before going limp.

Marcus breathed out a deep sigh. He placed a foot against the thing's head, and wrenched out both his sword and dagger.

He looked around. Serana and Frea were standing just a short way away. Serana's mouth was shaped into a knowing smile, while Frea's was hanging open like a trapdoor.

"Is everyone ok?" Marcus asked, clambering off the corpse and walking over.

Frea blinked and shook her head to clear away the bewilderment. "I… no. Wulf is badly hurt."

She lead him over to the man who'd been smacked into the stone by the monster. The left side of his face was bloody and bruised. No doubt he'd have cracked his skull. He was still breathing, but his time was running out.

Frea spoke quickly. "If we can get him back to the village my father might be able to help. Could you give me a hand carrying him?"

"No need." Marcus stepped forward and knelt at the man's feet. Calling the soft glow of healing magic into his hands, he reached forward and gently placed his palms on either side of Wulf's head. Unlike how he normally cast it on himself, Marcus poured magicka into the older man slowly, and carefully. No rapid bursts of energy. About 10 seconds later, the man's face was back to normal, aside from the drying blood.

Marcus stood up, breathing out a sigh of relief. "He should be fine now. Might have a bit of dizziness for a day or so, but that's to be expected with brain injuries."

Frea looked stunned again. "I… we are in your debt, Marcus."

Marcus frowned while smiling. "What was I supposed to do, let him die?" He bent down and picked Wulf up, carrying him in his arms. "Go gather the rest of them. Let's get back to your village."

* * *

The fire was small, given the cold air of the Solstheim mountains. It was hard to find proper firewood in the ashy landscape as well, but Marcus had managed. He and Serana appreciated the warmth it gave off, even if neither of them had felt like cooking or eating anything. Not that Serana needed to eat at all, but she liked to do it most days anyway. Kept her in touch with her humanity, she'd said.

But not tonight. After freeing every stone on the island from Miraak's control, Marcus and Serana were dead tired. They mostly just sat in silence, each waiting for their minds to think themselves to sleep. But with such thoughts, came questions.

"What did Miraak mean by kinslayer?" Serana asked quietly, almost wary of testing the waters of this conversation. She didn't want to make him mad.

Marcus looked up at her, his expression conflicted. Then he just sighed. "I… It's about what happened to me back in Cyrodiil. I thought I'd buried that a long time ago, but looks like the world still keeps finding ways to haunt me with it."

"You mean… your family?"

"Yeah…" Marcus nodded slowly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I never do."

"Well, would talking about it help?"

"I…" Marcus took a deep breath. "Probably. It's just not something I ever want to think about, let alone share with anyone close to me… but we've been through enough together that you deserve to know. Just not now. Give… give me some time to get my thoughts in order."

"Of course." Serana said gently, nodding. "Take all the time you need."

They sat in silence for a while longer. Marcus picked at his fingernails, musing on something.

"We had a couple close call today, didn't we?" He said finally. "Those 'lurkers' are tenacious."

Serana smirked, "What, you thought this'd be easy?"

Marcus chuckled. "I'm going to have to see about getting my proper set of armour up here. With how much fighting we've been doing, it'd make everything a lot easier."

"How are you going to do that? Skyrim's a long way away."

"I was thinking of employing the use of that smith in Raven's Rock."

Serana frowned. "How's he going to help?"

Marcus smiled. "You didn't notice me examining that marking out the front of his house? He's a member of the Thieves Guild. Or at least, he's got ties to them."

"I see." She nodded. "Makes sense. You think Delvin will ship it up here?"

"I mean, I am technically still the guild master. I'd want to hope so."

"Well, sounds fine to me." Serana's face sported a playful grin. "I'd look forward to getting to staying in a proper room at Raven's Rock, with a lockable door and a sturdy bed..."

Marcus shook his head with a smile on his face. "You're a goddamn nympho sometimes, you know that?"

"Are you complaining?"

"Not even remotely."

* * *

Storn was resting in his house. Most likely recovering his strength from the ordeal it'd been to protect his village. Marcus walked up beside him and sat down in one of the chairs close by.

He said, "I've cleansed all of the stones on Solstheim from Miraak's presence."

Storn nodded. "I can feel it. The balance of the living land has nearly been restored. I doubt it will fully stop what Miraak is planning, but it may slow his progress."

"That's not enough." Marcus shook his head. "I need to stop Miraak properly, now."

Storn sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "I cannot help with that. There are none here who can. You will need the same knowledge Miraak himself learned. You will need to learn more about the 'Black Books'."

"Well, tell me more about these books, then."

"They are dark things, unnatural. I would have nothing to do with them, but the Dark Elf Wizard, Neloth… he is another matter."

"Neloth?" Marcus frowned. "I met him at Raven's Rock a while ago, he was studying one of the stones."

"Yes… I feel that man has too much interest in the magics behind Miraak's work, and too little interest in the evils of it."

"You think he'll know about the books?"

"I do. I believe he knows a great deal about them. Perhaps too much. He has already found one, and showed it to me when he came here in search of more. Seek him out to the south, but be cautious, Dragonborn. There is something else at work here."

"Ok..." Marcus chewed his lip. "I guess I'll go see him, then."

He stood up, and moved toward the doorway. Storn called out to him just as he was about to leave.

"Dragonborn?"

The young man turned. "Yes?"

"Beware. You are now walking the same road as Miraak."

Marcus looked back, his face expressionless. "I know." Then he pushed open the heavy wooden door and walked outside.

Serana was waiting for him, leaning against the well in the centre of the village. When she saw him she came over. "That was quick. Do we know where we're going?"

"You know that wizard, Neloth? We've got to go find him along the south side of the island. Apparently he knows more about those black books."

She frowned. "Why do we need them? The last time you used one you nearly died."

"I don't think all of them have a direct conduit to Miraak. Others will help me learn the same things he does, and bring him that much closer to sword's reach."

"Ok," Serana nodded. "Are we ready to go?"

Marcus thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I need to do some repairs on my armour. Fix up the holes that've been punched in the chainmail. It should only take an hour."

* * *

Marcus was working at the forge when Frea came up to him. She looked a little flustered at his shirtless appearance, since he was halfway through repairing the ebony chainmail that normally protected his torso, but looked like she had something to say nonetheless.

"You need something?" Marcus asked.

Frea cleared her throat. "Um… yes. I was speaking to my father, and we both believe I should go with you to this 'Neloth'. Acquiring the knowledge Miraak has won't be an easy task, and I want to provide assistance wherever I can."

Marcus looked her up and down. An almost imperceptible frown touched his face, but only for a second. He knew enough about people and their tell-tale signs during dialogue to know something was up. His mind quickly searched for possible explanations.

 _They're worried I'll end up like Miraak._ Marcus realized.

He supposed it made sense. They didn't know him that well, other than that he was exceptionally skilled in combat. Storn had no way of knowing what kind of moral inhibitions he had regarding the accumulation of power or whether he would go down the same pathway, and Frea was extremely wary regarding pretty much anything regarding Miraak or other-worldly influences. Of course, it hurt a little that they didn't trust him, but Marcus knew he shouldn't begrudge them for it.

"Of course," Marcus smiled. "Serana and I will be grateful for the backup."

Frea breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you." She stood there for a moment, unsure whether to say anything more, then left before her cheeks turned any redder at his appearance.

An hour later, Marcus was finished with his repairs, and was standing at the very far edge of the village, looking out over the eastern side of the island. It was quiet. The ocean was far in the distance, the blue colour stained grey by all the ash filling the air. He'd told the others that they'd leave shortly, and then went off for a moment of quiet contemplation.

After hearing Storn's words, and seeing first-hand the corruption Miraak could sow in the world, Marcus knew the battle with the arrogant Dragonborn would once more be something that decided the fate of Nirn. For the third time in recent history, he would need to save the world.

It was practically asinine in his mind. He had to save the bloody world, again. Three goddamn times. Would it ever end?

How many times would he get wrapped up into another catastrophe? Why couldn't the Gods choose some other up-and-coming depressed soul to fix their problems? Was he just too good at his job?

Once upon a time, Marcus hadn't really cared. Being the tool of the Gods was something he'd just grudgingly accepted. But somewhere along the line, after he'd met Serana, that'd changed. He didn't like fighting anymore. He didn't want to feel the cold sting of steel raking across his flesh again. He didn't want to feel the burn of fire. Where previously Marcus had been apathetic about his purpose, now he was actively concerned about it.

And dare he think it, he wanted to change it.

A particularly strong gust of wind shook the snowy trees and ruffled his hair. He'd be lying to himself if he wanted, or thought he could have, a normal life. But he wanted something else. Something different to what he had now. Something more akin to what the few weeks after he'd confessed his feelings to Serana had been like. Casual adventuring, visiting his Guilds, meeting friends. No non-stop brushes with death.

Perhaps it was just his sanity returning to him. Marcus realized his current desires were technically not that unreasonable, but only seemed obscure and distant because of the frame of reference he had to compare it with.

Not that it mattered right now, of course. _Me and my stupid introspection,_ Marcus thought to himself, sighing. He should be leaving.

* * *

Marcus didn't know exactly what kind of residence a Telvanni wizard would have, but he certainly didn't expect it to be a gigantic mushroom. The trio walked past a few apprentices practicing spells outside, with one of them looking suitably disappointed at the results of a conjuration spell.

"How in the world do you build something like this?" Marcus asked, glancing around.

Frea said, "The Dark elves are known to use these for their dwellings. It would make sense one as accomplished as Neloth would be able to 'alter' the growth rate."

Marcus scratched the back of his neck. "Wow. I should ask him for some of the seeds. I could use with some extra storage in Skyrim."

"No you couldn't." Serana frowned. "You've already got, like, six houses anyway."

Marcus grinned, then mockingly raised a hand to his chin in a thoughtful pose. "Maybe I should see if Raven Rock has any available houses too..."

Serana punched him in the arm. "I've had enough of the regal life. Don't you go starting a real-estate empire."

"Fine, fine."

Frea watched the exchange with a curious look. "You have six houses?"

"Yeah." Marcus nodded.

"Why do you need so many?"

"He doesn't." Serana smiled.

Marcus deliberately chose his words carefully, "I have a lot of important things I need to keep safe. Plus it's nice to have a place to rest in every hold, if I need it."

They walked through the door to the largest structure, Marcus leading the way. As soon as he went through the door, he emitted a cry of surprise and vanished.

Frea and Serana both rushed after him, and were also promptly whisked upwards by the strange magical air rushing up from the floor. They ended up being thrown onto the floor of a room, each girl landing on top of Marcus, who hadn't had a chance to get up. Unsurprisingly, Frea in all her armour was quite heavy, and the impact of her landing on him knocked the air out of his chest.

Serana quickly stood up off him, then just as quickly pushed Frea off as well. The warmaiden stood up quickly, her pale face a shade redder than normal. Marcus cleared his throat and stood up last. Neloth stood a few metres away, watching the entire affair with a bemused look. As Marcus turned around, the dark elf frowned.

"You again? Didn't I see you in Raven Rock?"

"Yeah," Marcus brushed himself off. "I'm the guy that lost his memory."

Neloth nodded. "Ah, I see. I take it you got it back?"

"Yeah. For better or worse."

"Good… The loss of your memory in particular would be rather unfortunate."

Marcus frowned at the statement, but figured if Neloth could grow a gigantic house-mushroom, he could figure out that Marcus was Dragonborn. "I've been told you know where to find Black Books."

Neloth looked surprised. "You refer to the tomes of esoteric knowledge that old Hermaeus Mora has scattered throughout the world? What could you know of them?"

"The books were created by Hermaeus Mora?" Marcus blinked. "Well… That explains a lot."

"You have the look of someone who's dealt with him before."

"Uh… I have. I've read the Oghma Infinium."

Neloth looked stunned, then very intrigued. "Have you? The actual Oghma Infinium? That's… I've searched for it myself for many years without success… Where was it? Where is it now?"

Marcus held his hands up in a 'stop the questions' gesture. "It was in a big dwemer box, and it's currently somewhere at the bottom of the sea of ghosts. I didn't exactly approve of the Daedra's methods, and so I cast the book away after our 'falling out'."

"Hmmm…" Neloth rubbed his chin. "You crossed Hermaeus Mora and survived? Impressive. You seem to have escaped the fate of many who find themselves ensnared by the lure of his secrets. Why do you seek the Black Books?"

Marcus explained in detail the things he'd discovered, and been told by the Skaal. He described his encounter with Miraak and the powers that'd been corrupting the land, and more importantly how those powers were able to be countered with the same knowledge that Miraak had. Neloth looked less concerned about the hostile powers infecting the island, and more… intrigued. Marcus couldn't help but feel perturbed by him. What kind of person hears about a potential takeover of the world and acts nonchalant about it?

After a brief dialogue regarding the Black Books Neloth had, and where Marcus could find one that was actually appropriate for his needs, Neloth reached a conclusion.

"While I have located the book you speak of, I haven't been able to access it. But maybe together we can unlock the secrets the Dwemer left behind."

Frea blinked. "The dwemer? What do they have to do with this?"

Neloth turned to face the Skaal. "Forbidden knowledge was something of a specialty of the dwarves. It seems the ancient dwemer discovered this book and took it to study. I found their 'reading room' in Nchardak."

Marcus asked, "Why weren't you able to get it?"

"The book is sealed in a protective case which I wasn't able to open at the time, but perhaps the group of us together will be able to get it..." Neloth looked thoughtful for a moment, weighing potential advantages and disadvantages in his mind. "Yes. I have decided. To Nchardak then. Follow me."

Then, without even waiting for their answer, Neloth grabbed a few items off a desk and floated down his air lift quickly to the ground floor.

Serana frowned. "A strange elf, for sure."

"Quite," Marcus mused. "I get the impression he's been through a lot."

The trio headed after Neloth, emerging from the mushroom into the open, and seeing Neloth conversing with an apprentice. After a few words, the apprentice ran off towards what looked like a storeroom, most likely gathering whatever Neloth felt he needed for the journey.

"Excuse me," Frea said to Marcus and Serana, "I'm going to go see if I can't get a little more information from him. I feel we are being left very much in the dark."

"By all means," Marcus gestured for her to go ahead. The nord warrior walked off, hopefully to pry some details from the mage before they ventured into what would no doubt be a precarious dwemer ruin.

The young man turned and instead walked a short way away, towards the edge of the complex. The ocean was a short way away. If he threw a stone hard enough, it'd probably hit the water. Serana came up behind him.

"I was thinking..." She began slowly. "If you're destined to be the 'Last Dragonborn', doesn't that mean you're destined to beat Miraak?"

Marcus shrugged. "Maybe. But that could just mean I'm the last to be born, or chosen, or created, or whatever. It doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to be the last to die. It might, but it also might not."

"Oh, I see." Serana looked forlorn. She clearly thought she'd found some kind of prophetical loophole that'd give them some peace of mind.

"It's a pain isn't it?" Marcus smiled wearily. "There's no predicting what plans the Gods have laid out, or what they intend. I don't even know if what they 'intend' is what ends up happening."

"Assholes..." She muttered, brushing some ash off her arms. "They seem to delight in throwing you into the fire, the least they could do is make it a bit simpler."

They both sighed. She walked over and hugged him, her weight pressing against him so that she was almost leaning on him.

When she spoke, her voice sounded weary, "It's going to get harder before it gets easier, isn't it?"

Marcus smiled, and stroked her hair. "Probably."

Serana sighed again. She tightened her grip on him, looking out over the coastal landscape. It was a nice view, if a little colourless. "Do you think we'll ever get peace?"

Marcus paused. A few thoughts ran through his mind, ones that'd been becoming more prominent in the last few days. He was conflicted on the matter, and yet at the same time he wasn't. He wanted to strive for that kind of peace, that kind of solitude where he and Serana wouldn't have to risk their lives to save the world. Yet, he felt like his place would always be there, at the front lines of whatever war plagued Nirn.

Marcus breathed out. "I do. One day. I'll make sure of it."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: I said this chapter would be out sooner. Turns out that wasn't true, huh? Really, I just had a bit of writer's block with the earlier sections, and got too many new video games to celebrate finishing my first set of finals.**

 **You'll all finally get some closure on Marcus' past (pre-Skyrim) sometime over the next few chapters, probably before the final showdown with Miraak. Not sure whether to do a flashback-style scene or just have Marcus describe it. I'll probably do some drafting to figure it out.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	53. Dragonborn: Chapter 4

A Doom Driven Hero: Dragonborn Chapter 4 – The Worth of Words

The journey to Nchardak was uneventful, in terms of hostile encounters. Their group was somewhat spread out. Neloth was more in front, while Marcus stuck close to Serana at the back, and Frea moved around them. She was more 'mobile' as their small party moved through the ashy wasteland, carefully scouting the area to their flanks and rear. It didn't seem necessary, but Marcus guessed it was force of habit.

Neloth kept glancing back at Marcus, curiously. Eventually the young man got tired of the repeated looks.

"If you want to ask me something, just ask it."

Neloth gave a half-smile, and slowed his pace so they were closer. "I thought it might not be wise, but if you insist… How exactly did the Dragonborn enter a relationship with a vampire?"

Marcus staggered, tripping over his own feet with surprise. Serana visibly stiffened, her eyes flashing with sudden vigilance. Her entire posture became vary wary.

"Relax," Neloth looked around. Frea was a good distance away, out of earshot. "While I doubt our Skaal friend would approve, I am more… liberal with such matters."

Marcus eyed the dark elf carefully. "You'd be one of the few."

"I've seen far too much to judge a book by its cover. Now, my question?"

Serana shrugged. "It's complicated. Short version, we saved the world together."

"Was this concerning the Dragons?"

"No, vampires."

"I see... The world seems to get into jeopardy very frequently." Neloth sighed.

"How old are you exactly?" Marcus asked, curiously.

The elf just smiled. "Old enough to see your type more than once."

"My type?"

"This world gets into its share of troubles. And when things reach a breaking point, there's usually someone who comes along and fixes it all, to a greater or minor degree. The Nerevarine, The Champion of Cyrodiil…. And those were just in my time. They all answered a certain call, and wrenched the world away from destruction."

Serana blinked. Her grasp of recent history wasn't great, but she knew enough and had been learning, so she knew who Neloth was speaking of. "So you met them? The Nerevarine? The Champion?"

Neloth shook his head. "I never met the Champion, though I did meet the Nerevarine. Strange fellow, but very strong-willed. Prophecy does that to a person."

"What happened to them?" Marcus asked. "After they saved the world and whatnot, what happened?"

Neloth looked back at Marcus, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "Depends. Short answer is, nobody knows. They seem to just 'vanish'."

Serana frowned. "How is that possible? How could people like that just disappear?"

"History tends not to care about such heroes once their purpose is fulfilled. Usually the world is just too eager to forget the whole crisis happened in the first place."

Marcus slowed down a little. He stared hard at the ground, thinking. Neloth looked back at him.

The dark elf looked almost amused. "Wondering if you'll share the same fate? Your ending lost to history?"

"Mightn't be such a bad thing." The young man mumbled. Obscurity had advantages. Of course, 'vanish' could mean a peaceful retirement, or it could mean an uninteresting death at the hands of some final lucky foe.

But at least it seemed like there was an end to the duties. The world wouldn't perpetually get itself into danger until he died of old age. Probably.

"We're getting close." Neloth stated as they came over a rise, tearing Marcus out of his thoughts. The eastern coast of the island was in sight, which meant they were not too far from Nchardak itself.

They approached quickly, eager to get inside and grab what they needed. But as they got closer, it became clear it wouldn't be so simple. As they peaked one last rise, they could see the entrance to the dwemer ruin was already inhabited.

Neloth frowned. "This place was deserted when I was here last."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Well, not anymore. Who are they?"

"The local banditry." Neloth said in an annoyed tone. "Take to calling themselves 'Reavers'."

Frea studied the encampment around Nchardak's entrance. There was a number of figures patrolling the walkways and half-crumbled structures. "They've dug in well. Getting inside won't be easy."

Marcus went to agree, then stopped himself. He studied the area, and tilted his head to the side. "I… wouldn't say that. Most of them are outside, yes? Not many undercover?"

"Not a whole lot of cover to be under," Serana mused. "What're you planning?"

He turned and smiled at her, a dark confidence brewing just beneath the surface of his features. An expression that made Serana's face scrunch up with suspicion. She knew that look. Marcus stood up and walked a short way out towards the edge of the ruins. He looked up at the overcast sky, typical of Solstheim. Thick with clouds and ash. Perfect.

"Strun… Bah Qo!"

The air around Marcus shimmered with power, and seemed to burst upwards towards the sky. Thunder boomed in response to his words. As if in agreement to his request. The young man swayed a little, and carefully dropped to his knees. The group came up to him, seeing his slightly dizzy expression.

"Pray tell," Frea asked. "What was that?"

Marcus didn't answer straight away. He just rubbed his head and winced a little. "Forgot how that one felt..." he mumbled, then looked up. "What'd you say?"

Frea frowned. "That was another shout, wasn't it? What did it do?"

Serana put her hands on her hips. "I haven't seen that one before either. Though, if it was strong enough to bring you to your knees..."

Marcus blinked. "Wait, you've never seen this one? Damn Serana, you're in for a treat."

Serana went to speak. "Your -"

She was interrupted by the crash of thunder. A second later rain started to fall. It became heavier with each passing moment.

"You made it rain?" Neloth asked sardonically. "Goodness, how helpful."

Marcus looked at them all, then switched to face the exterior of the ruins. There was about 20 odd people there. A part of him felt bad that they'd all die in minutes. Another part of him felt glad he was able to clear a path for them without letting them get into danger. A third part of him relished in the power, how easily the world would bend to his will.

Marcus buried that final feeling, chalking it up to his draconic instincts, and ignored it.

* * *

Marcus carefully stepped over a charred corpse, and walked onto the main platform outside the main entrance to Nchardak. Frea looked increasingly wary of him. He wasn't surprised. The Skaal seemed to be very simplistic people, and such power was clearly something they wouldn't approve of. Neloth looked surprised for once, and curious. No doubt the wizard was thinking about whether such power could be harnessed into a spell. Serana looked amazed, and a little proud.

Neloth moved up to the front door, which appeared to be locked by a series of bars. He produced something from the small bag he brought with him.  
He said, "The Dwemer of Nchardak appear to have been fond of these control pedestals. Luckily, I found one of the cubes used to operate it on my last visit. I then sealed the door to keep out ignorant meddlers." The dark elf looked around at the charred corpses littering the area. "A wise action, it seems. The book is just inside."

Neloth placed the cube inside the pedestal, and the door unlocked itself. The group then headed inside. Marcus saw the book instantly. It was in the centre of the entrance room, beneath a strange glass panel and resting on a small pedestal.

"So tantalizingly close..." Neloth mused, walking up to it. "But trust me, no magic will open that. I'd have the book already if it could. We're going to have to do this the hard way."

Marcus chuckled to himself. "Of course we will. When is it ever easy?"

The elf continued. "If we can restore steam supply to this room, I'm certain I can open it. But that alone won't be an easy task, as you'll soon see." He gestured to a door at the far end. "This way to the boilers."

Marcus and Frea followed him, moving toward the large door. Neloth was just about to open it when a loud crackle, followed by a thunderous boom filled the air.

"By Akatosh…!" Marcus cried, turning around to the source of the noise, hand reaching for his sword.

But there was no threat there, just Serana with a sheepish grin and lightning sparking at her fingertips. The glass cover sealing the book inside now sported a large black burn, but didn't appear any less impenetrable.

"Sorry," the vampire said. "Just wanted to see if it was truly sealed away."

Neloth frowned. "My dear, I can assure you the dwemer would have sealed such an artifact of knowledge behind a barrier stronger than something simple destruction magic could crack."

"I know. Just checking."

Marcus shook his head slowly, but a smile was on his face. "Come on. Time's wasting."

The group moved through the door, and into the dwemer ruin. Marcus waited for Serana to catch up, and wrapped an arm around her in an almost pleased fashion as they walked side-by-side after the others.

* * *

Navigating Nchardak was a chore, even by dwemer ruin standards. Marcus had never been particularly fond of the structures. He found them far too long, and apart from blackreach, the dwemer rarely had an eye for architectural variation. Ancient nords were similar. Both dwemer ruins and nordic crypts had little variety in terms of how they look.

Then there was the constructs.

Marcus wasn't a fan of draugr, but at least they were simple. The lumbering bags of bones and rotten flesh tended to be tough, but they never held any dangerous surprises. With automatons however, he was never sure when they'd suddenly do something unexpected and deadly. Like a spider suddenly exploding with lightning, or a centurion half-cooking him in his skin with steam.

Case in point, the ruins of Nchardak were home to a type of round automaton that fired long bolts at intruders with frightening speed and accuracy. Neloth called them 'Ballista'. The bolts they fired were like mini javelins, and could pierce through most metals.

Serana seemed to be most in her element, somewhat surprisingly. Her speed meant she could dodge the machines' projectiles to a greater degree than the slower members of the party. Frea muttered occasionally about her seemingly unnatural agility, but didn't say anything. For now.

Marcus found himself at the front of the fight more often than not, alongside Frea. This meant he had the majority of hostile attention directed at him, for better or for worse.

But when one of the dwemer Ballista hit him with a bolt, not only did it go through his ebony chainmail, but it went through **him.** The bolt cut clean through the flesh near his hips and smacked off the far wall behind him. A few inches to the side, and the bolt would've disemboweled him completely. Luckily, the young man had a few healing potions, and the injury was closed up before too much blood was lost.

It was still very painful though, and the wound was healed only in the superficial sense, so the others agreed that they should stop and rest for a while.

"Just lie here for a moment," Serana said soothingly, gently placing Marcus down to lean against a wall.

"I'm fine," Marcus waved a hand dismissively, but the action made him wince in a little pain.

"You're not fine." Frea said, walking up. "We've got enough of the cubes, and this area is cleared out. We can afford to rest."

Marcus protested, "I carry healing potions for a reason, you know. I don't have to take five every time I get a little scrape. It hurts, but that's it."

Serana shook her head and crossed her arms. "The bolt basically skewered you, Marcus."

"I can still stand, and I can still fight." The young man was adamant.

"I know you can." Serana said, cupping his chin. "But you don't **have** to. We're not in any significant rush, and you've been doing much of the heavy lifting so far, so you can take a break."

Neloth walked up, examining one of the cubes they'd collected on their journey through the ruin. He glanced down at Marcus. "There's a difference between stubbornness and bravery, Dragonborn."

The young man stared back at the group of people seemingly ganging up on him, almost defiantly. "Male Nords don't know that difference."

Serana frowned. "You're only half nord, though."

Marcus threw his arms up in defeat. "Fine. We'll take a break." He slumped a little, and laid his sword and dagger beside him.

 _Never had to deal with this when I adventured on my own,_ he thought with a grumpy smile.

It was nice to see that they cared, but Marcus hoped they realized the sentiment wasn't entirely necessary. In recent times he never felt significantly outmatched when in these situations. At least when the fate of the world wasn't hanging in the balance, at least. If he thought about Nchardak and the things they'd encountered so far, there was no way he'd necessarily 'want' to do it alone, but if he was honest with himself he probably could.

Barring any significantly poor luck, of course.

It was surprising, to realize just how powerful he was. Marcus didn't think of himself as some kind of demigod, but he could understand how much of the world could. He recalled the shout he'd used to clear the entrance earlier. To think that he, a young man, could summon a terrifying lightning storm to wipe out a camp of people… it was scary. Which was probably why he didn't think about if often. The Dragon within him would beg to differ, but it rarely had the reigns, so to speak.

Marcus looked down and examined where the bolt had hit him. It still felt a little sore, so he cast a little restoration magic and mentally pushed it into the muscles around the area.

There was a disconnection in terms of what he faced in his life. Threats like vampires, bandits, and most dragons were… dare he say it, easy. Or at least manageable. This was harrowing in itself. What did it say about Marcus if the dangers that made most folk flee were little more than distractions to him?

But then there were higher threats, like Harkon and Miraak. Marcus' fight with Harkon had put him in a coma for weeks, and Miraak had practically incapacitated him in a matter of moments. There wasn't really anything in between, and he felt the more he fought the weaker foes the less prepared he was for the stronger ones.

Perhaps it was the sort of problem that disappeared with experience. Alduin, Harkon, and even Miraak were, or had been, several thousand years old. Though, they'd all died at least once. Marcus could take pride in the fact he hadn't. And he was much younger. Marcus was only...

The young man started. His 23rd birthday had passed a few weeks ago, and he hadn't even realized it. He didn't know whether he should find that amusing or sad.

Marcus looked up, wondering if he could ask Serana about this. She was technically thousands of years old, but much of that had been spent in a tomb. He wasn't entirely sure how many years she'd been conscious for. He wasn't sure if she even knew. Immortality would tend to make the past blurry, he imagined. The dark-haired girl was talking to Frea a short way away. They both paused their conversation, glanced sideways at Marcus, chuckled to each other, then continued their conversation.

The young man narrowed his eyes, certain he'd just been the butt of a joke. Marcus stood up, and walked over to Neloth. The dark elf had dragged one of the ballista they'd destroyed a little closer to their little group and was examining it. He looked up expectantly.

"Any discernible weaknesses?" Marcus asked.

"They die when you shoot a thunderbolt at them."

 _Fucks sake,_ Marcus thought. _Everyone's a jester._

Neloth said, "Speaking of lightning… That shout you used outside, how difficult was it to learn?"

"For me? It was less about learning it, and more about reaching the locations where each word was etched. Learning the shout itself was easy, though using it is fairly taxing."

"Interesting." Neloth scratched his beard.

Marcus continued. "But for you? I'd say impossible."

"What? How?"

Marcus crossed his arms. "I find it doubtful I'm the first person you've encountered that used the Thu'um, so if it was possible for you to learn it, you probably would've done it by now."

Neloth raised an eyebrow at him. "I might've just been devoting myself to other pursuits."

"For anyone who doesn't have the soul of a Dragon, learning words of power requires extensive meditation and reflection. It demands a certain inner peace. Somehow, I don't think you have the… 'temperament' for that."

"Huh." Neloth looked annoyed, and somewhat indignation. "Why don't you go back over to your corner and rest a little more? Your pain-addled mind must be influencing your reasoning."

Marcus chuckled, and walked back over to his spot while guessing how long it'd take before the others would let him continue.

* * *

The group was back in the main control room of Nchardak, standing on the platform with the pedestals and confusing-looking control dials. Running his eyes over the various moving pieces on the dashboards, Marcus was reminded not for the first time just how advanced the dwemer were. He was a fairly well-educated person, and even he could spend years trying to discern their function.

Of course, the dwemer weren't all that great. They'd managed to make their entire race vanish, so they can't have been too wise.

"With the cube I retrieved from the pumping pedestal," Neloth was saying. "We should now have five cubes – exactly what we needed. We can finally see about getting those boilers started. Once we start four, we should be able to open the book's protective case upstairs."

Frea rubbed her wrist anxiously. "I'm still not sure about this."

Marcus looked away from the control panels. "Turning on the boilers, or getting the book?"

"The book," Frea replied. "You said it comes from Hermaeus Mora… my people have a dark history with him. I would not trust any knowledge you receive."

Serana said, "Marcus will be careful. Or at least, he'll be safe."

"I will." The young man agreed. "It's hardly my first rodeo, and if push comes to shove, he won't be the first Daedra I've kicked in the teeth."

Neloth frowned at him.  
"Metaphorically speaking," Marcus added. He walked over to the lower platform and began placing the cubes in all the boilers, starting them one by one. Once the last was in its place, all four boilers had begun to heat up and vibrate with steam.

"That seems to have done it." Neloth called down. "Good. It took longer than I hoped, but at least it's finally done. I -"

A resounding crash filled the air from behind Marcus. Turning away from Neloth, he saw that a bridge had been lowered from the other side of the chamber.

On the opposite end was a gigantic dwemer centurion. Before he could figure out if there was some way to raise the bridge up again, the metal behemoth whirred and clicked, before tearing itself out of its little archway and thundering up the bridge towards them.

"Gods dammit..." Marcus muttered, quickly drawing his sword and charging an inferno spell into his hand. The others did the same.

As the centurion stomped over to them, the three magically-inclined warriors fired a barrage of lightning bolts and fireballs at it. It just took the magical projectiles to the chest and kept moving. Clearly, this was one of the tougher variants of centurion.

Once it reached the main platform, it seemingly sped up its movements. Hunching over, the automaton set about splitting up the four fighters. It moved forward and raised a foot to stop on top of Frea. The nord warmaiden leapt backwards and the heavy metal boot crunched into the floor, cracking the stone. Frea then darted forward and slashed her two axes across the exposed leg. Her axes carved deep gashes into the metal plating, but did little else.

Marcus ran up from its flank, casting a non-stop gout of fire from his left hand. The centurion spun around to face him, swinging its left arm with the hammer. He dropped to his knees and briefly slid along the ground, with the heavy metal weapon passing just over his nose. He then rose to his feet, still running, and slashed across the gyros at its hip.

Another pair of thunderbolts slammed into the centurion, this time closer to its head. It staggered backwards, and switched its faceless gaze to Neloth on top of the upper platform, where the control panels were.

It raised both its arms and swiped at Marcus and Frea at the same time. Marcus was just able to dodge out of the way, but Frea got slightly nicked by the axe, and knocked over. Her armor protected her, but she was still left vulnerable.

However, the centurion seemed less interested in her, and instead moved towards where Neloth was. Instead of taking the walkway up, the golden machine hunched over, then leapt the 3 metres up to the area with the pedestals. Neloth was now effectively cornered, and the dark elf's eyes widened with alarm for perhaps the first time in decades.

Neloth retreated backwards, moving towards the edge of the platform as the centurion advanced. Marcus scrambled to his feet and began sprinting up the walkway, but he feared he'd get there too late.

Neloth was now backed up against the far right-hand edge of the upper section, with nothing behind him but a long drop into the murky water below. The centurion took one last step forward, and bent over with the its metallic mouth opening.

Recognizing the impending steam attack that would not be stopped by any wards, Neloth opted for the slightly safer of the two options presented to him. He turned and leapt off the platform and fell down into the water far below. He was safe for now, but wouldn't be able to get back for at least 10 minutes, effectively removing him from the fight.

The centurion, seemingly satisfied with the removal of one of the larger threats, turned back around. It did this just in time to face Serana, who leapt off the floor and sprinted for a few steps along the side of the closest wall before launching off and landing on its head.

She spun herself about on its shoulders with agile grace and ended up behind its head. She then began driving her dagger into the back of its neck, over and over again. Thick chunks of dwemer metal flew off as the Dragonbone blade sliced through the weaker armor.

The centurion flailed and spun around in circles, its arms seemingly unable to reach up behind its head. It staggered back to the spot with the pedestals, and whether intentionally or involuntarily, fell backwards off the edge to the lower platform with the boilers. Marcus, who had only just reached the top platform, watched as the huge automaton crashed into one of the pipes connected to the boilers. Burning hot steam burst out of the ruptured metal tubes and filled the air around its torso.

Around where Serana clung.

The air was filled with the noise of twisting metal, but Marcus could still pick out Serana's cry of pain as the steam flooded her. The entire pipe structure crashed down around the centurion, and when it recovered from its fall and rose onto its feet again, Serana was nowhere to be seen.

The centurion stomped over to Frea, who was now the closest assailant. Marcus barely even registered it.

"Wuld!"

Within a second he was at the wreckage of the boiler, throwing up the metal plates and searching desperately for Serana. He saw her pale hand sticking out from underneath one large curved plate, and heaved it up. Serana's lower half was stuck underneath smaller pieces of stone and wreckage, and her top half was covered in nasty-looking steam burns. But Marcus could see the rise and fall of her chest. She was alive.

Serana's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at him. "I'm ok." She coughed through burnt lips, then pushed at his shoulder and pointed behind him with her one free arm. "Help Frea."

Marcus' heart fell as he realized he'd left Frea to fend for herself for the last few anxious seconds. He mentally swore at himself, and turned around just in time to see the nord woman get knocked to the floor, axes spinning away from her grasp. The centurion leered over Frea and raised the larger hammer on its left arm, preparing to bring it down on the woman's chest.

Marcus pushed off the ground fast, knowing he had to act fast or the woman would become a red smear across the floor. He grasped his sword in two hands, and flung it overhead at the metal monster as he ran.

Despite it never being designed for such purposes, Marcus had ensured that the sword was well-balanced when he crafted it, meaning the blade was suitable for throwing in a pinch. The weapon struck the centurion in the upper section of its left arm, not dealing damage so much as seizing up the gears of the mechanism and preventing the killing blow from being dealt to Frea. Sensing the greater immediate threat, the centurion turned to face Marcus.

The young man's mind raced as tried to think of a way to both occupy the creature's attention, and keep himself alive, all without his sword. His dagger was a decent weapon, but was nowhere near large enough to penetrate this particular centurion's armor in the areas he could reach and do damage to anything underneath.

The centurion took several steps forward towards Marcus, raising its axe-arm. On the floor in front of it, a bright blue rune carved itself into the ground directly on the spot where it was about to place its right leg.

Marcus looked behind him and saw Serana with her hand outstretched from within her cage of rubble, magic sparking at her fingertips. He smiled in thanks, and turned back to the centurion just as it stepped on the rune.

The shock explosion blew apart the lower section of its leg, with much of the metal plates going flying, and one of the hydraulic cylinders splitting apart. Unable to support the entirety of its weight on that limb, the centurion stumbled forward, bent over. Marcus, spurned by the opportunity Serana had given him, charged forward while it was momentarily incapacitated and leapt upwards. He used its bent leg as a springboard to leap onto its chest plate. He grabbed a hold of a rivet and wrenched his dagger out of its sheathe, then promptly began slashing and stabbing at the torso of the metal monster. He tore out thick gouges of the golden metal, intent on creating an opening to the interior.

The centurion smacked at him with its axe-arm, but the way the hinges on its arm functioned and the awkward position the young man was in – grappling its chest as he was – meant that the attacks could only be made with the blunt side of the axe, and with a level of force that would only cause major bruising of the young man's back. Certainly, something Marcus could live with for the moment.

After a few more seconds, a plate-sized gouge had been made in the chest of the metal behemoth, and Marcus could see the red and gold orb that was the Centurion's dynamo, still spinning about and flashing.

The young man didn't know exactly what the dynamo did, or how it functioned, but he knew it was important. So with one hand giving him a firm grip on the machine, he tossed aside his dagger to free up his other hand and called fire into the palm.

With a flick of his wrist, Marcus stuffed the powerful fireball inside its chest. He then leapt backwards off of the centurion, flipping in the air and landing in a crouched pose a few metres away just as the chest cavity of automaton filled with fire and exploded. Red-hot pieces of metal flew through the air, and when the smoke cleared the centurion was left standing there with a ruptured chest.

Then with a thunderous crash of metal on stone, it fell to the ground, dead.

* * *

Marcus gently laid down Serana's unconscious body in the elevator leading up to the reading room. Her breathing was weak… but steady. Her body and face sported numerous scratches and steam burns, making her pristine appearance bloodied and raw. Despite the tremendous pain she'd no doubt been under in the final moments before she'd blacked out, Serana had still managed to scrape together the strength and mental will to cast that final, pivotal spell.

 _Tough girl,_ Marcus thought, smiling at her. But inside, his heart was breaking.

Neloth pulled the lever that'd take them up to the reading room. Frea sat down in a heap nearby, her armor scratched. Marcus looked over at the nord warrior. Serana needed healing, and she needed it now. If he waited too long her injuries would scar, and while he doubted he'd care, Marcus knew she would.

There was only one way to properly heal her to a sufficient extent, and he knew that'd cause some major problems with the Skaal. There was no telling how she'd react. He had a choice to make.

Marcus looked down at Serana, seeing the angry red splotches across her face and arms. The long jagged cuts made by the broken metal. He shook his head slowly to himself. Idiot. There was ever a choice to make, only consequences to prepare for.

Marcus pulled the sleeve of his armor up, exposing his wrist. He then took out his dagger and slashed his skin open, pressing the bleeding wound to Serana's lips. Despite being mostly unconscious, the vampire's instincts took over and she sank her teeth into the flesh around the cut, drinking deeply.

"What in the All-Makers…?!" Frea stood up, and reached for the handle of one of her axes.

"It's ok!" Marcus said, loudly but firmly. He held up his free hand to gesture her to stop. "It's… It's to heal her."

"She's a vampire?!" Frea cried, not letting go of her axe.

Marcus nodded. "I… Yes." He turned back to face Serana, then grimaced. She had quite an appetite.

Frea looked horrified, and bewildered. "I… How could you..."

"Because it doesn't matter." Marcus stated, still looking down at Serana.

"Vampires are evil!"

Marcus went to retort, but Neloth beat him to it. The dark elf stepped in front of Frea and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Think about this, Frea. Did you think Serana was evil before now? Did you see her as a threat?"

"Well, no, but -"

Neloth continued. "Then she isn't now. She was always a vampire, my girl. Don't the Skaal believe to judge by one's actions?"

Marcus said, "I'm not asking you to like it, I'm just asking you not to attack her."

Frea looked at Neloth for a few moments, then at Marcus and Serana. Then back at Neloth. She breathed out a sigh and lowered her weapons. "Ok… I… I guess you're right."

Marcus relaxed a little, then realized that Serana was still drinking his blood. "Easy girl..." he mumbled, pulling his wrist away from her mouth. The red stain on her lips counter-intuitively made her look prettier.

Her skin had a healthier glow now, and he could see the definition and discoloration of the burns fading within seconds. Hopefully she'd be back to normal within a few hours, though it'd take her longer to wake up.

With a clunk, the elevator stopped, and Marcus looked up from Serana's body to see they'd arrived at the reading room. Neloth ran in, and looked down through the glass at the Black Book.

"Yes, it worked! The steam is now flowing." He walked over to the side of the room and fiddled with a few mechanisms. "Now it should be as simple as… There!"

The glass covering the book disappeared, and the pedestal holding it raised up into the room to about chest height. Marcus looked down at Serana. As much as it pained him to leave her side, she would be safe for the moment. He stood up, and walked over the large black tome.

Neloth said, "I hope it was worth it. Please, you deserve the first look. Besides, it could be very dangerous. These books are known to drive many people insane."

Marcus chuckled quietly to himself. "Shouldn't have to worry about that with me…"

He picked up the book and held it in his hands. Despite its size, it wasn't that heavy. The young man went to open it up, but hesitated briefly. Marcus wasn't sure how well he'd face the challenges on the other side of the book. His limbs felt weakened after scouring the dwemer ruin, and fighting that Centurion sapped much of his stamina. His bruised back ached particularly bad. He glanced back at Serana and Frea, and had his mind concluded.

Staying here longer would just be dangerous. He needed to learn what Miraak knew, and he needed to do it now. Breathing in and out once to steady his resolve, Marcus opened the book and sunk inside its pages.

* * *

Apocrypha was… nightmarish. The long corridors made entirely of crushed books, the inky black liquid everywhere which hid tentacles, the random gurgles and screams that sometimes filled the air… even the air smelt acidic and gross.

The monsters were horrific too. The strange floating creatures that'd attacked him along with Miraak on his first venture to the plane were commonplace, as were the Lurkers he'd fought at the stones around Solstheim. The occasional 'fonts' around the place that restored his magicka were a welcome benign component to this harsh place, but it still was difficult to progress. Marcus wasn't an easy person to tire, but his strength waned further with every passing skirmish.

Until at last, Marcus came to the top of the structure he'd been wading through for the last 2 hours. The green and black sky opened up to him, and he felt similar to how he had under the sky in the Soul Cairn. Small. But Marcus wasn't alone at the top. A certain someone, or something rather, was also present.

The wretched mass of black ooze and tentacles was waiting for him. Marcus had only met the daedra on two other occasions, and on both he'd felt rather disconcerted at the appearance of the prince of fate.

"Ah..." The deep voice spoke out as Marcus got closer. Like a tired man sinking into a warm bath, almost. Only a lot more macabre. "You've arrived, at last."

"You were expecting me?"

"All who seek knowledge come to me, sooner or later." One tentacle stretched out from the mass and attempted to brush Marcus' shoulder. The young man pushed it aside with the blade of his sword.

"What do you want from me?" Marcus asked.

"It is my place to ask that question… I have watched your progress through my realm with growing interest. You are following in the footsteps of my servant Miraak. Like him, you are Dragonborn, and seek the power that is your birthright."

Marcus frowned. "I'll tell you what I told you in that Dwemer lockbox. I won't serve you. I just want to defeat Miraak."

Hermaeus Mora blinked his largest eye and focused it on the young man. "And I shall reply in kind… You will serve me, willing or not. All who seek after the secrets of the world are my servants."

"I don't know how easily this gooey form of yours can be harmed," Marcus stated, raising his sword and resting it on his shoulder. "But you're making me want to find out."

Hermaeus Mora chuckled, a deep rumbling noise that made the bubbles and black ooze ripple. "I know what you truly want, Last Dragonborn: To use your power as Dragonborn to bend the world to your will. So here then is the knowledge you need, although you did not know you needed it. The second Word of Power. Use it to bend the wills of mortals to your purpose."

Marcus felt a strange sensation in his brain, as if something foreign was working its way through his skull. He closed his eyes in discomfort, then seemingly saw a word in front of him as if it'd been etched onto his eyelids. 'Hah'. The second word. When he looked back up, the mass of eyes and tentacles had gotten closer.

"But this is not enough. Miraak knows the final word of power, and without that you cannot hope to surpass him. Miraak served me well and he was rewarded… I can grant you the same power as he wields, but all knowledge has its price."

"So, what's your price for the final word of Power?"

Hermaeus Mora blinked slowly. Almost dreamily. "Knowledge for knowledge. The Skaal have withheld their secrets from me for many years. The time has come for this knowledge to be added to my library."

"Even if that was mine to give, how do I know I can even trust you?" Marcus spat.

Hermaeus Mora rippled. "My word is as true as fate, as inevitable as destiny. Bring me what I want, and I will give you what you seek. Send the Skaal shaman to me. He holds the secrets that will be mine..."

Marcus looked down at his hands. He was tempted to call fire into his hand and unleash it at the wretched black mass. Frea was right. No good could come from communing with this being.

"Why are you interested in helping me defeat Miraak, your own servant?"

"Miraak has served me long and well, but he grows restless. His desire to return to your world will spread my influence more widely, but it will also set him free from my direct control. It may be time to replace him with a more loyal servant."

Marcus raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "And you think I will be that more 'loyal' servant? You must be delusional."

The daedra chuckled again. "You think too highly of yourself, Dragonborn. You have already served many daedra for what you conceive to be the right reasons. Azura, Nocturnal, Sheogorath, Malacath… from how many have to accepted boons, and served in return?"

"They were different."

"No. You are like other Dragons, seeking domination and power, if only justified for 'mortal' reasons. You will bring me what I want, in exchange for what you want. It is inevitable."

"And what if it isn't?" Marcus asked angrily, taking a step forward. "What if I tell you to go shove your inflated opinions up your floating ass? What if I go and find a way to defeat Miraak by myself?"

Hermaeus Mora's eye narrowed. "You cannot hope to face Miraak without the knowledge I have to give. Without me, you will never attain the strength you seek, and your life with that servant of Molag Bal will be cut short when Miraak invades Tamriel."

Marcus' grip on his sword went white. He stormed a step closer and glared at the large black eye from only an inch away. "You ever mention Serana again, and toss every single one of your books into the ocean like I did with Mephala's Ebony Blade."

Hermaeus Mora backed off, floating a few metres away. "You… You wouldn't dare."

Marcus growled. "Don't tempt me."

"Hmm… Regardless, you have my ultimatum. Return to your realm, and I will await your adherence."

The daedra faded away, shrinking into nothingness and leaving Marcus alone in front of the Black Book. Several orbs floated out of it, each seemingly awaiting his touch. No doubt the kind of knowledge one would normally gain from the book, without an audience from the daedra to complicate things.

Marcus sighed, and touched the one with a flame swirling inside it. His vision went bllury and he felt a series of hot prickles along his skin, like goosebumps. Then the world faded away and he smelt the warm air of the dwemer ruin returning.

* * *

"Well, what was it like?" Neloth asked Marcus, stepping forward with anticipation written all over his face. "Different people have different experiences with these books."

"It was..." Marcus blinked a few times, and rubbed his forehead. "Not the most pleasant experience in a daedric realm I've had. Probably not the worst, though. I spoke to Hermaeus Mora."

Neloth mused, "You're still acting surprisingly sane too… What did he say? He must have wanted something."

"He did. He wants the knowledge of the Skaal. What their Shamans have kept from him, in exchange for the final word of the shout Miraak knows."

Frea looked up from her sitting position across the room. "What? Are you sure?"

Marcus nodded. "Yeah. I'm… I'm sorry. I wish it was something else."

Frea looked conflicted. "We… We must go see my father. He will know what to do."

Marcus looked over at Serana. "How's she been?"

"Delirious mutterings, little more." Neloth replied.

"Ok." Marcus walked over and picked Serana up in his arms. She felt heavier. He was more tired than he thought he was, it seemed. Frea moved to the exit, while Neloth grabbed the Black Book. As Marcus moved after Frea, Neloth walked beside him and quietly whispered.

"What secrets could those tribals have that's worth keeping from old Mora? His deal sounds like a bargain to me. Hermaeus will learn some new ways to skin a horker, and you become among the most powerful Dragonborn to ever live."

Marcus glared at the dark elf. "I doubt it's that simple… in any event, it isn't mine or your decision to make."

Neloth was about to retort, when they heard Frea's cry of alarm from outside. Moving quickly, they emerged from the ruin to see a Dragon perched on the adjacent structure, glaring down at them.

Neloth swore. "By Malacath's Toenails, where did that come from?!"

"It was waiting!" Frea cried, drawing her axes.

Marcus looked up at the Dragon, and groaned inwardly. Not the best timing for a Dragon fight. He wished he could have a brief rest, despite only a few hours earlier he'd been stating it as unnecessary. Ironic.

"Miraak has ordered your death..." The Dragon boomed. "So it shall be!"

Marcus turned around and quickly laid Serana down behind the ajar door. "Hang on sweetheart," he whispered. "I'll be just a moment."

Then he turned around and drew his weapons, as the Dragon took to the skies.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Probably only two more chapters for Dragonborn, then it'll be back to Skyrim to wrap up some things. Getting close to the natural end for this story, I feel. Running out of ideas, aside from a select few.**

 **Still, given my upload schedule, that's still a very long time off, eh?**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	54. Dragonborn: Chapter 5

**Author's Notes: Back at Uni again, and it has proceeded to immediately tear me a new asshole. Never choose second year courses as a first year, folks.**

 **After working all day, slogging through work, it's tricky to get back home and feel motivated to write, so weekends is generally when I get most of it done. So, that's why this chapter's late. Showdown next chapter. Got lots of ideas for the 'stages' of Miraak's fight. Lots of back and forth in both combat and dialogue.**

 **I should probably mention, this next chapter gets pretty dark. There's a reason Marcus is so messed up. Now you'll find out exactly why.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

* * *

A Doom Driven Hero: Dragonborn Chapter 5 – The Time Before

Marcus raised a ward up with his left hand, and felt the heat and force of the dragonfire pushing against his arm a fraction of a second later. He gritted his teeth and frowned. Too slow. The ward slowly shrank in size, and shimmered as it grew weaker.

 _Fuck it,_ Marcus thought to himself. "Feim… Zii Gron!"

He dropped the ward and started sprinting, straight through the dragonfire, feeling nothing but coldness on his ethereal skin. He reached down and gripped his dagger in his left hand, running a few potential attack moves through his mind. A second later the Dragon closed its mouth and the volume of fire disappeared, only to witness the foe it had expected to see curled up on the floor as a charred corpse only a metre from its head.

Marcus slashed both weapons across the face of the Dragon, the dagger cutting the tip of its snout and the sword cutting through one of its eyes further back. He then reversed the action and deepened the same cuts, slashing in the opposite direction. It roared in pain and took to the sky, the gusts of wind created by the beats of its heavy wings pushing Marcus back before he could land another hit.

A pair of thunderclaps rang out, curtesy of two large thunderbolts from Neloth. One struck it in the chest, and the other hit it in the tail.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep this up!" Neloth shouted at Marcus, as the young man sheathed his weapons and conjured a bound bow.

"Your telling me?!" Marcus cried back, feeling the dull ache in the forefront of his brain from his growing magicka depletion. "I was still in Apocrypha 10 minutes ago!"

He drew the bowstring back and fired at the circling Dragon. Frea, seeing him, decided to do the same and grabbed a bow off one of the semi-charred corpses that'd been left outside from their 'entrance'.

The beast took a few arrows to the chest before it lowered its flight and landed with a loud crash atop one of the towers dotting the exterior of Nchardak. It fixed its gaze down on the mortals exposed on the platform outside the main doors and opened its mouth wide, a familiar orange glow building in the back of its throat. Frea and Neloth were both closer to the slightly ajar large metal doors, and promptly dove for cover behind them.

Marcus unfortunately, had no such luck, and couldn't muster the strength to use another shout quite yet. He dived to the side to avoid the brunt of the fire, and attempted to raise a ward with one hand. The magical shield grew to the size of a dinner plate, enough to protect his head for a few seconds, then shattered. The edge of the dragon's blast lashed at his body, burning much of his exposed skin, though his numerous enchantments lessened the damage.

Marcus dropped to his knees as the fire ceased, and the Dragon took to the skies once again. He was tired. Too damn tired. The pain made it worse, muddying the waters of his mind with an overload of sensation. Fighting through a dwemer ruin, taking on the biggest Centurion he'd ever faced, fighting through a plane of Oblivion, and now fighting a Dragon all within the space of around a half-day. He hadn't even had a decent sleep the previous night.

Marcus pushed at the ground and forced himself back onto his feet. The Dragon had withdrawn a little, out of the range of their spells and arrows. He took a deep breath and swallowed the bile that'd begun to accumulate in the back of his throat. One more shout. He had one more good shout in him.

"Joor… Zah Frul!"

The green energy burst from him and rushed skyward to meet the circling wyrm. The shout lashed out at the beast and began 'sucking' away at its skin. The Dragon groaned and began to drop in altitude. It approached the platform at a sharp angle and a high speed.

With a crash, the Dragon half-landed, half slammed into the stone walkways and skidded several metres onto the stone area outside Nchardak's entrance. Marcus unfortunately was in the path of the Dragon as it slid those last few metres and didn't have the speed to leap away quick enough. As its heavy mass hit him, he was knocked away like a ball. He flew a few metres then skidded across the grimy salt-stained stone, and would've tumbled over the edge had he not blindly reached out with his arm and grabbed a hold of a crack along the very edge.

Legs dangling over murky seawater below, Marcus felt his shoulder dislocate as the jolt from stopping his momentum in a single second wrenched at his entire arm. He swore in several languages, then reached up with his other arm and began pulling himself up.

The Dragon looked down at its body, covered in the draining aqua magic.

"No Dovah would stoop to such vile tahrovin!" It roared angrily at Marcus.

"Not entirely a Dovah..." he mumbled weakly, heaving himself up another few centimeters.

The wyrm took a few steps towards him, its eyes filled with humiliated rage. Frea took the chance to run up behind it and bury both her axes deep into the flesh right where its wing connected to its torso.

The stahlrim axes, while not entirely severing the limb, cut through the vast majority of the softer tissues at the joint. The Dragon raised its head up to roar in pain, instinctively throwing its winged arm out to push away the assailant. Frea caught the heavy membraneous limb to the chest and was thrown backward. No real harm done, but she was certainly winded.

Marcus finally heaved himself back onto the platform, and promptly used his good arm to shove his dislocated one back into its socket. Pain flared in his mind like an explosion, turning his vision dark at the edges for a moment.

 _Need to finish this now,_ he thought, panting. _Don't have the energy to keep this up any longer._

The Dragon raised its wing and examined it with deep growls. It wouldn't be flying away any time soon. It looked over at both Marcus and Frea, who'd both managed to gain its intense ire, and tried to decide which to attack first.

Marcus, not wanting Frea to face the beast, helped make its decision.

"Losei aan lir nikriin ahrk ful los Miraak." The young man said with a tired, sly grin.

The Dragon's eyes flared with anger at the insult towards both it and its master. It launched itself at him, legs pushing at the ground so hard the talons left deep scratches in the stone. Marcus breathed in once, a shaky rattling breath that did little more than steel himself mentally than remove fatigue.

Then he was running, feet slamming against the stone in rhythm to the pounding of his heart. The Dragon reared up as it got closer and prepared to engulf him in its crushing maw of teeth. Marcus watched as the large head was raised, and then descended at him.

Timing it right, Marcus dodged to the side and dropped to his knees – a fairly easy action to do in his state – and let the powerful jaws clamp together over his head. The Dragon, not feeling the resistance betweens its teeth it expected, raised its head quickly to see what went wrong. Marcus reached up with his free hand and grabbed hold of one of the horns along its chin as it did so, and the beast lifted him up as well.

Feeling the mortal clinging to its head the Dragon reared upward fast to throw him off, but to no avail. Marcus flipped himself up to the topside of its head, just as it opened its mouth to emit a roar of annoyance.

In the position the Dragon was, with its mouth open and head reared towards the sky, the young man found the only stable footing was with one leg on the snout and one on the chin, positioning him directly over its open mouth.

The Dragon immediately attempted to breath fire, and the orange glow slowly built up in the back of its throat. Marcus didn't think he'd ever had such a close-up view to the indication of the oncoming inferno. He knew he needed to get his own attack in first.

His sword darted down into the Dragon's mouth, slicing its tongue into two smaller strings of flesh and filling its mouth with black blood that instantly began running down its throat and disrupting the broiling flames. With his other hand, Marcus summoned the last of his magicka and cast a channeled blast of 'wall of storms' down its neck.

The spell struck the sides of the Dragon's mouth and throat as it travelled downwards, coating the entire orifice in the persistent magical lightning. The smell of scorched flesh instantly filled the air, as there were no tough scales to protect the insides of the beast.

Marcus half-leapt, half-fell off the Dragon's head. He hit the ground hard and dropped to his hands and knees. The beast flailed its head around in the sky, wings outstretched. It would've been roaring, had its entire esophagus not been ground zero of an explosive magical decoction.

 _Please die,_ Marcus thought. He had no plan B.

The magical energies in the Dragon's throat, having done enough damage to the surrounding tissues, reached a breaking point. The front section of the beast's neck, right behind its jawbone, exploded outwards with sparks and lumps of smoking black flesh. The dragon let loose a shudder that traveled the entire length of its body, and collapsed to the ground in a heap. A second later its skin began to glow and burn, the flesh turning into light that enveloped the entire corpse.  
The energy flowed out of the monster and Miraak was nowhere to be seen, so it danced toward Marcus. The sensation of liquid fire rushing through his veins was as exhilarating as ever, and most likely the only thing keeping the exhausted man conscious.

The bones were soon all that remained, lying on the platform without so much as a spark to separate it from any other animal skeleton. Frea and Neloth approached the beast, their eyes wide at the spectacle that'd been the absorption of a Dragon's soul.

"That was..." Frea began, then stopped as she found she had no words to do it justice.

Neloth looked at a loss, a state he prided himself on not being in. "If I had to describe that, I wouldn't know what to say..."

Marcus would've liked to have made a quip in response to such statements, had he not already sunken into oblivion.

* * *

It was the gentle rocking that awoke him. Similar to a ship riding low waves, he felt himself get lulled forward and backward in a slow rhythm. When Marcus opened his eyes he saw nothing but a textured grey, so he knew he must've been on his back looking up at the sky.

He sat up slowly. Experience had taught him it was unwise to sit up fast after he'd passed out, lest he pass out again. Marcus found himself on the back of a strange creature. Similar to the netch monsters he'd seen near the shoreline of the island, only much larger. It's back had been hollowed out and turned into some kind of saddle, with as much space as the back of a carriage. Serana was asleep next to him, curled up and pressing against his side. Cute. Her skin had a much healthier glow, thankfully.

"You're awake… how about that."

Marcus turned and saw Neloth sitting a metre away, leaning against the side of the creature. He glanced around with a brief frown. "What is this thing?"

"A silt strider. One of the few remaining. Since both you and the lady there were unconscious, and Frea decided to head back to her village ahead of time, I commissioned Revus here -" Neloth gestured to the dark elf that seemed to be 'driving' the creature. "To take us to there as well, albeit at a slower pace than Frea."

Revus spoke up. "Yeah, sorry about that. Dusty here isn't as spry as she used to be."

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh… thanks, I guess." It was a kinder gesture than he'd expected to see from the grumpy wizard.

"Well, I'm not carrying the two of you back to the Skaal Village, that's for sure."

Marcus rolled his eyes. That was more like it. "How has she been?" He asked, gesturing to Serana.

"Good. She woke up once, about an hour ago. First thing out of her mouth was whether or not you were ok. I said her you were fine, and gestured to your unconscious self to prove it. She said we had different definitions of what 'fine' meant."

"Huh. Sounds about right."

"Then she crawled over to you. I was worried she'd try that 'unorthodox' method of healing again, but she didn't. Just curled up against your arm and fell asleep again. I get the impression she was still very much in pain."

Marcus nodded. He wasn't really surprised. The steam messed her up pretty badly, and vampires have always had an aversion to heat. Plus, Serana fed very rarely, so that would've exacerbated the damage. "I see."

He felt angry at himself, in part, for failing to protect her. Even with everything he knew, he couldn't guarantee her safety. He knew she'd just say that such a thing was impossible to 100 percent guarantee, but Marcus had defied the impossible more than once. Why couldn't he do it again, for that which mattered most?

"You two suit each other well."

"We do." Marcus nodded in agreement, and glanced down at her. "I'm surprised to the extent, to be honest. I would never have guessed it. I look at her, and I see a beautiful, charismatic, cunning, intelligent warrior. With the vice versa… I wouldn't have a clue."

"You don't know what she sees in you?"

"Haven't the foggiest." Marcus looked up from Serana to face Neloth. "I know you and I don't really know each other that well, but… uh… I'm pretty fucked up, in a lot of ways. So, if you ever get an inkling as to why she feels this way, do tell."

Neloth raised an eyebrow humorously. "I do have an inkling, but I think you're too modest to believe me."

They lapsed into silence at that, sitting in silence for a while.

"Would you tell me how you two met?" Neloth asked after a few minutes.

Marcus shrugged. "It's a long story."

"The Skaal village is a long way off. We've got time."

"Why do you care?"

"People like you… you're 'type'… are interesting to me. I want to know more. As far as I know, none of the other prophetic heroes ever managed to gain a significant other."

"My type?" Marcus rolled his eyes. "Please, stop trying to make that a thing. I'm just a guy that's been screwed over by the divines for a couple years. Nothing special."

Neloth chuckled. "Of course. Still mind telling me about yourself?"

The young man sighed, and cast his modified muffle spell that was usually used for… 'other' purposes in order to make sure their driver didn't freak out. "I dunno. Where do you want to start?"

"What happened when you and Serana first met?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "It was in some crypt. Well… we sort of attacked each other."

"…Not a typical start for most relationships."

"At that point, I just saw her as another vampire. Hadn't really met a whole lot of nice ones up until that point either, so I opted for caution."

"Why didn't it end with one of you dead?"

"I was curious. She had an Elder Scroll with her at the time, and that kind of scared me a little. She promised information, so I stayed my blade for a short while."

Neloth blinked. "An Elder Scroll? That business with the vampires is starting to sound more interesting. Do go on..."

Marcus continued, describing the entire affair that'd taken place over the several months after he'd joined the Dawnguard, and ended when he'd been rendered comatose by Harkon, moments after killing the bastard. Neloth looked suitably impressed at times, if only due to the amount of punishment Marcus seemed to be able to withstand.

"So, you had a knife in your chest?"

"Yeah. A smidgen to the right of my heart. I've got a neat scar from it."

"And then you pulled it out yourself?"

"Yep."

"And threw it at Harkon, landing it in his eye?"

"Mhmm."

Neloth looked at his hands for a moment, taken moderately aback. "You've certainly led an action-packed life. What happened after you woke up from your mini-coma?"

"Spent a few days confined to my bed due to my injuries." The young man smiled unconsciously. "Then… quite a few more days more due to other reasons."

The dark elf frowned. "Other reasons?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "That's private. Very private."

Neloth raised an eyebrow, but didn't pry any further. Marcus was grateful for that, as there was no appropriate way to say that he and Serana had essentially had sex for a week straight.

* * *

Marcus walked up to Storn Crag-Strider carefully. The old man was sitting near the well at the centre of the village, and watched him approach with an unreadable expression. No doubt Frea had already told him of Hermaeus Mora's demand, but he felt like he should say it to be sure.

"I spoke to Hermaeus Mora in his realm," Marcus began. "He… he asked for the secrets of the Skaal, in return for the knowledge I need to match Miraak in power and defeat him."

Storn nodded. "I had hoped my daughter had misheard… but it seems she told the truth. We have many tales of Herma-Mora trying to trick us into giving up our secrets to him, and now he's come again for what we've kept from him so long."

"What could you know that he doesn't already?" Marcus asked. "No offense, of course."

"Ancient Lore, handed down from shaman to shaman… how to talk to the wind, listen to the earth… nothing of power or mastery."

"Why would he want that?"

"For Herma-Mora, it's in his nature to hoard secrets to himself. Their value to him isn't of any consequence. The fact that we have kept knowledge from him merely increased his desire to have it."

Marcus nodded slowly, understanding. "I see… What will you decide?"

Storn sighed, and stood up. "Walk with me, Dragonborn."

Marcus obliged, following the older man out to the edge of the village, where the ocean could be seen. It was the same vista Marcus had stared at not too long ago, and reflected at.

Storn breathed in the cold air. "I've always liked this spot. The view is nice, but not distracting. It entertains just enough of the mind to clear it of cluttering thoughts, but allows for meditation and reflection nonetheless."

"Hmmm..." Marcus hummed in agreement. He wasn't sure where Storn was going with this, but decided not to push him.

"What do you think I should do?"

The young man blinked. The question was very plain and straightforward. It was almost as if Storn was asking him about the weather, rather than the fate of his people.

Marcus looked out at the grey ocean. "Truthfully? I'm torn. Half of me knows Miraak needs to be defeated, and thinks any individual sacrifice is worth the cost of achieving that outcome."

The old man's voice was quiet. "And the other half?"

He sighed, and kicked at a bit of snow. "I've lived through more brushes with death than I have birthdays. Somehow, I seem to manage. Part of me thinks that this is one of those situations that I should just 'manage', without outside intervention."

"Hmmm… Is that your complete answer, or what you think you should say?"

"Why do you care what I think?" Marcus asked. "I'm just an outsider."

The Shaman nodded. "You are. Yet, you've come here and cleansed every All-Maker stone. You've saved several of my village, including my own daughter multiple times. You've thrown yourself at numerous challenges and tribulations all across the island in order to help people you'd never met before."

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. "That's… It's just what I do. It doesn't mean anything."

"Really?" Storn's eyes twinkled with humor. "It means nothing?"

Marcus groaned. "I know what you mean, but you're wrong. You look at me, and see some kind of hero that's always going to make the right decision. But I **don't.** I've lead friends to their deaths. I've killed indiscriminately. I've betrayed people and been betrayed myself. I'm a thief, and assassin, a servant or champion of several daedra…"

"I wasn't insinuating you always make the right decisions. I meant you always try."

"And that gives me some kind of recommendation?"

Storn smiled. "As much as anything, yes. Now, your final opinion?"

Marcus looked down at his feet, then looked back up at him. "I think you should give Hermaeus Mora what he wants. Too much weighs on me defeating Miraak. We can't afford to take chances."

"Thank you, Marcus." Storn nodded gratefully. "I affirm that."

"The Gods have mercy on our souls." Marcus replied, breathing out heavily.

They stood in silence for a few more seconds. Then Storn rubbed his cheek. "Well, I think we both have some affairs to get in order. Come find me when you are ready."

"Aye."

* * *

Serana was working quietly next to one of the Skaal women, carefully helping them stitch up some clothing that'd been damaged in one of their numerous hunts. The clothing the nords wore was multi-purpose, being designed to both protect the wearer from the harsh, cold weather and whatever foes they might encounter. It proved difficult to mend, as the girl was learning. Serana was so engrossed in the work she didn't notice the young man approaching from behind her.

"Serana?" Marcus asked quietly. Timidly, almost.

"Yes?" She looked up from her work.

"Uh… when you're ready, could you meet me in the hut? I… I need to tell you something."

There was something about his manner, his expression. Marcus looked scared, almost. Resigned. It made Serana frown. She didn't like seeing him in that state, and more importantly, she wondered exactly what could put him in it.

She smiled at him. "Of course, I'll be just a minute."

"Ok. Thanks." He nodded a little too quickly, and headed inside.

Serana watched him go, wondering what he could have to say that'd make him so anxious. She finished stitching up the little tear on the clothes, and then followed him inside shortly after. Marcus sat at the small table, swirling around a cup of water. He looked up as she entered, and closed his eyes, as if mentally preparing himself.

Serana sat down opposite him, her brow furrowed with concern. "What's the matter? You're not normally like this."

"Yeah..." he nodded. He took a deep breath and looked up. "I think it's time I told you about my past."

Serana's eyes widened. Suddenly his behavior made a lot more sense. "You mean… what happened before you came to Skyrim? With your family?"

Marcus nodded. "Yes. It's about time, I reasoned. And… well, never mind."

"And what?" Serana asked, curious about his sudden guilty look.

"Nothing, it's just… Well, I'll most likely be facing Miraak soon, and..."

Serana crossed her arms. "And you think you might die."  
"No!" Marcus said quickly, waving his hands. "That's not what I meant..."

"I can tell when you're lying Marcus." Serana pursed her lips. "You really think Miraak will be that dangerous?"

His posture slumped. "I… I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. What I do know is that you deserve to know the truth, and I'd rather someone did if anything… happened to me."

Serana bit her lip sadly as she looked at him, his face creased with worry and a thousand anxious thoughts. If he wasn't such a master of restoration magic, no doubt the young man would be having heart problems by his thirties.

She reached forward and took his hands in hers. "Very well. Tell me, if that's what you want."

Marcus took a deep breath, and looked up into her bright eyes, seeking solace in their depths. His posture relaxed a token.

He began, "I was born in Chorrol. It's an average-sized city in the mountain forestry east of The Imperial City. A nice place, and quite sequestered as far as cities go. Mum and Dad were fairly successful merchants, so my family was wealthy enough growing up. We had a nice house with a nice garden."

Marcus looked morose, and Serana could tell that his home didn't look like that now.

"I was educated to a decent extent, more than most I guess. Mum and Dad put emphasis on that, thinking I'd probably end up getting into the merchant business like them. I don't remember too much from my early years. A lot of running around the city by myself, as I wasn't the most charismatic lad. Got bullied occasionally early on, but that just helped teach me how to take care of myself early."

A touch of a sombre smile came to his lips. "The other kids in the city soon learned to leave well enough alone…"

"Sounds like you always were a tough guy." Serana said with a smile.

"I had my moments…" The smile faded. A deep pain came into his eyes. "When I was 10, I was given a sister. Her name was Lora. She quickly became my closest friend. Even when she was still a toddler, we found ways to play together. Digging up holes in the garden, adding water, then playing in the mud until Mum or Dad found us… Chasing the neighbor's chickens..."

Marcus leaned back on his chair, and stared up at the ceiling so that the moisture welling in his eyes wouldn't flow down his cheeks. "I… I don't know if I realized how happy I was at the time… perhaps its the sort of thing you only ever understand once it's over. I guess it doesn't matter. Things stayed good until Lora turned 6. Mum began having health problems, at that point."

Marcus sighed and leaned forward again, fiddling with his nails. He didn't know why he found it hard to meet Serana's eyes. Something about keeping this all hidden for so long, sharing it just didn't seem real.

"Hey," she whispered, reaching forward and grasping his hands again. "It's ok."

He looked up, and smiled gratefully at the comfort. It didn't help, but the gesture was appreciated. "The healers didn't know what it was. Not any kind of disease, more of a… weakening? The muscles around her lungs weren't as strong as they should've been? I can't remember. All I know is it couldn't be cured."

Marcus' breaths in had begun to grow shaky, but he still continued. He would've kicked himself, had circumstances not been what they were. A grown man, carrying around such an old burden? How many countless other people had lost a family member to sickness? He figured he should know better. Be stronger…

"Mum got worse over the next 6 months, until she died. I… I still remember the day she passed."

* * *

 _Marcus sat beside her bed, Sara's hand clasped around his. Her fingers were thin and bony, yet still carried warmth and held onto him with a firm grip. The teenager's head was hung. It felt wrong to see his mother - his ever-dependable mother - so frail. She'd spent most of her time asleep, courtesy of the medicines she'd been given. No-one had said it to him, but Marcus knew the medicine did little more than ease the pain._

 _No-one had said it to him, but Marcus knew his mother was going to die. The concept clawed at his heart with each second._

" _Look at me, honey." Sara said, before a coughing fit came over her.  
Marcus looked up, and waited for it to subside. When she was stable, he gave her hand a squeeze. "Mum?"_

" _What time is it?"_

" _Early evening, I think."_

" _You think?" She frowned. "How long have you been sitting there?"_

" _I… I don't know." He admitted. His Father had been there up until about 20 minutes ago, when he'd left to go prepare dinner._

" _Have you done your readings for the day?"_

 _Marcus looked to the side. "I… I haven't had time."_

" _You won't get anything done sitting there all day." Sara smiled._

 _The young man tried to match the expression, but Marcus failed halfway through and broke down into tears, clutching his face in his hands. His mother's face softened._

" _Hey… it's ok." She reached for him and gently lifted up his face._

" _It's not ok!" Marcus cried, staring with desperation at her. "You're… you're…"_

" _You need to be strong, Marcus." Sara whispered softly. Her voice broke through his sobs and managed to soothe him slightly. "Know that I'll always love you, and you'll be ok."_

 _Marcus drew in a shaky breath between sobs. "Y-You're not making this easier..."_

 _She smiled sadly. "It isn't going to be easy, sweetheart, but you're brave. Braver than you could ever think." She brushed away some hair that'd become stuck to his face from the tears. "Look after little Lora, ok? You two are the greatest things I ever managed to put into this world. Stay together."_

" _I promise I will Mum..." Marcus whispered, clasping her hand in his and squeezing it. "I promise."_

" _Good boy." Sara smiled, and coughed hard a few more times. "Now would you be a dear and go fetch me some water?"_

" _Of course." Marcus stood up and left, going downstairs to adhere to her request._

 _She wasn't alive when he came back._

* * *

"Marcus..." Serana breathed. "I'm… I'm so sorry."

"Yeah..." he mumbled, looking down at his hands with sparkling eyes. "It… It's still very vivid."

"I can see why you were hesitant to share this. It… it would be painful to bring up."

Marcus sighed, and wiped his eyes tiredly. "It gets worse."

"After Mum died, Dad… lost himself. He took up drinking and steadily let the family business go awry. It fell to me to look after Lora for the next year or so. I taught her everything my teachers had taught me, and ushered her away from the sight of our drunken father when I could."

Marcus ran a hand through his hair, smiling sadly. "She was… very young, and that meant she was a little naive at times. She didn't quite understand what was happening."

Bits and pieces began to fit together in Serana's mind. The words he'd used to support her when she grieved what'd happened to her family… this was how he knew exactly what to say. A father who'd lost his way, a mother who'd disappeared. Slowly, she began to see the more complete picture of the man she loved. Her heart bled alongside him as he continued to recount his tale. She felt she should say something, anything to improve his mood, but knew she should just listen for now. The time for comfort would come later.

Marcus drew in a shuddering breath. "Then… one evening, I came home to find Dad dead in the kitchen. It seemed alcohol had no longer been enough for him, and he'd taken the step to skooma. One step too far, as it'd been too much for his aging heart and had killed him."

"By my blood..." Serana gasped. "What… what did you do?"

"The only thing I could do. I informed the local priory, and made sure to keep my sister away from the kitchen until the body was attended to." Marcus looked down at the woodwork on the table, and Serana could see the large tears sliding down his face once again. His voice remained steady, however.

Marcus took another breath, but it came out as a sob so he tried to disguise it by clearing his throat. "It… Lora was just coming to the age where she could understand what had occurred. She… didn't handle it well. I let her take it out on me, for the most part. It felt like all I could do. Some distant relatives organized for us to be taken to Kvatch, and placed in an orphanage. At that point I was around 17, so very much on the older side, but it was made clear we wouldn't be separated."

Serana rubbed and twisted her hands, hoping very much that the story was going to begin to grow lighter, but the look on Marcus' face made that seem unlikely.

"We were placed into a foster home, and we were adopted rather quickly. The man who would take us in didn't seem to care that myself, practically a young man, was thrown in with my sister as well."

"Well, that's good." Serana said optimistically.

Marcus looked up at her, his face a poster of grief. "I guess it was. It meant she didn't die alone."

Her face slowly fell, a barely perceptible shake of her head followed. "No..."

"I got a bad feeling from the man who took us in." Marcus hung his head. "He had a dark gaze, and aside from some fake-feeling words of welcome and promise, he didn't say much to us. But I didn't do anything about it. I thought I was just being suspicious, or overprotective, or pessimistic. I didn't want to ruin what could be a good new life for Lora. It… It didn't take long for things to go wrong."

"The day after we arrived at his house – a large, empty place on the outskirts of Kvatch – we went to sleep in our beds and awoke in a different place. Some clearing in the woods, where the ground had been carved up with magical symbols and runes. A ritual site, or sorts. We were tied to stakes, in the centre of the circles."

Serana's eyes had grown wide. Her mouth was partly open but she had no words to say. Marcus' face had become blank. His eyes unblinking, as he recounted the tale as though he was simply mumbling the scene his mind was playing out for him.

"I didn't know at the time what the purpose of the ritual was for. Now though, I can guess. He wanted to use our souls in some fashion, maybe as a sacrifice for greater power but probably for himself to 'absorb'. The fact that souls are strong sources of power is common knowledge, and it doesn't take much to use them for enchantment purposes… so whatever the man would've used us for, it wasn't conventional. With the magnitude of the runes that'd been carved in the ground… I think it would've consumed our souls completely. No soul cairn, no afterlife."

Serana's breath caught in her throat. "Is that even possible?"

"It is. Alduin did something similar, eating the souls of the dead in Sovngarde. I don't know where the energies go, but it wasn't to an afterlife."

Serana stared at him. Her voice spoke quietly. "What happened?"

Marcus breathed out. "Fate intervened. In a similar fashion to a coin flip, the entire thing was turned on its head. The man chose me to go first."

He looked up at the ceiling, as if gravity would told the tears in his eyes. "We were terrified. Lora was screaming and crying. I was practically ripping the flesh from my wrists trying to escape the bonds. He began to chant phrases and cast spells on the runes in the ground. The magic coalesced around me after a minute, seeping out of the ground. Little tendrils of darkness prodding away at the air around me… My skin began to hurt, like a horrible sunburn."

"The man had clearly prepared for two human souls. Why wouldn't he have? The carvings surrounding me and my sister were nearly identical. The problem was… and I didn't know it at the time… my soul was never human."

Marcus brought his head down to look at Serana. "You know why you can never soul-trap a Dragon? It's because our souls are pieces of Akatosh himself, like little embodiments of his divine self. The magics that'd been poured into that clearing were demanding of a soul, but what they got was far more than it could've hoped for. I don't know what happened then. Everything went fuzzy. I remember my skin glowing bright orange, and an unbridled heat building around me. Then the world turned to amber, and my head filled the sound of roaring flames."

Marcus tried to breath in, and continue. "Then… When I came to..."

He broke off, then took another deep breath and tried again. Eyes sparkling, the words kept catching in his throat. "I..."

Marcus' dam wall burst, and he began crying. Not sobbing, not sniffling… but almost bawling. Serana's face dropped, and she instantly stood up. Within a second, she was out of her chair and beside him, clutching his head in her hands and pulling him close. He continued crying into her chest, turning her shirt wet. Between the chokes, he was able to continue.  
"The area looked like a hellscape… The m-magic had nowhere to go and simply turned to raw energy. The trees were on fire, the man who'd started it all was dead, and Lora… Lora was..."

* * *

 _The air smelt… burnt. Like the fiery wrath of the Gods had descended onto that very clearing and ripped it to pieces with a blazing inferno. The ground was charred, the dirt scorched black and any grass not removed by the carvings had been reduced to ash. The air shimmered with heat as the trees around the clearing burned. Lying on the ground a few metres away from Marcus' untouched form, was a burnt body. Its little chest heaved with frantic breaths. Marcus was by his sisters side in an instant._

" _Marcus?" Lora croaked softly, her burnt lips parting. "Where… where are you?"_

" _I…" Marcus looked down at his sister with a horrified expression. "I'm here, Lora… Just… hang on, I'll…"_

" _Where are you?" Lora rasped, moving her scorched head around with weak movements. One of her eyes was covered by the half-melted, half-burnt flesh of her brow. The other was a red bloodshot mess. "I… I can't see you."_

" _I..." Marcus' breaths became faster. His panic rising. "I'm here, Lora!"_

" _I'm scared... -" Lora coughed, her chest shaking. "It hurts so much..."_

 _Marcus clutched his sister in one arm, and desperately tried to summon healing magic into his other hand. The golden sparks flickered at his fingertips and disappeared, not even managing to leave his hand, let alone help Lora._

" _Am I dying?" Lora asked, fear creeping into her voice. "Marcus…?"_

" _You're..." Marcus looked down at his sister, tears filling his eyes. "You're not going to die, Lora... Stay with me, please! I… I might be able to… I could… I..." His mind raced for something he could do. Anything._

" _I feel cold." She whispered. Her blackened fingers raised up and brushed his cheek. "Are you hurt like me?"_

" _I… I'm not..."_

" _Good." Lora's cracked lips tilted upwards into an attempt at a smile. Her fingers dropped to beside her, suddenly going limp._

 _Marcus clutched her with both hands and pressed her forehead against his. His whole frame shaking with sobs. "I love you Lora. I love you so much."_

 _He got no reply._

* * *

The room was silent. Marcus had stopped crying. Serana couldn't speak. They just stayed still, each wrapped in the other's embrace.

Serana didn't know what to do. How do you react to someone sharing something like that? Someone more socially versed than her might know, but she had nothing. In the end, she just clutched Marcus close to her chest, and gently stroked his hair. It was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to Marcus.

They stayed like that for a long time. Nothing spoken, just a quiet action that meant far more than words could've.


	55. Dragonborn: Chapter 6

A Doom Driven Hero: Dragonborn Chapter 6 – Out with the Old, In with the New

Marcus reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the gloomy basement. As he expected, it was largely a storage space with materials and tools not immediately required on various stands and in crates about the place. The main item of interest however, was at the back of the room. It stood out like a splash of blood on fresh snow, and was the only thing in the room that wasn't the property of the blacksmith.

Glover Mallory pointed at the armor mannequin. "Delvin had it delivered a few days ago. I've got it here, just like you asked."

Marcus grinned. The sight of his towering Dragonbone and Ebony chainmail plate armor always filled his chest with pride. The knowledge that he'd created it, that he'd built such a magnificent set of equipment with his own hands and resources… it went a fair way to allay the anxiety that'd been brewing in his chest lately.

Glover crossed his arms. "Out of professional curiosity, how in Oblivion did you make that?"

Marcus' grin widened. "With great difficulty."

"I'd heard stories of you from my brother, but I wasn't sure how many of them were true."

"Delvin isn't one to exaggerate. Not about me, anyway."

"Evidently."

Marcus stepped forward, and gestured with his head toward the door. "I'm going to put this on now, so..."

"Oh, right." Glover nodded. "I'll give you some privacy."

The blacksmith left the room, leaving Marcus alone with his 6'5" suit of might. The young man began unbuckling his robed armor and putting on the plate armor. It took him a good 10 minutes, even after all his practice.

It was like sinking into a warm bath, in a sense. The security and ease it gave did him good. He'd made the gear with the goal of fighting a God in it, and knew without a doubt it was the single most protective thing he could ever hope to make in a practical sense. Inside that armor, he was at his utmost best. That gave a definite peace of mind.

Marcus was about to leave the basement, when he saw a letter on a small table in the corner. Normally he wouldn't care, but this letter was very… worn. It had the look of paper that'd been handled, read, and re-read a lot. Smudged by dirty fingers and stained with what looked like small droplets of water. This alone piqued his curiosity, so Marcus figured he should give it a brief look. Just a short one.

Half expecting some personal head-canon of the lusty argonian maid, Marcus opened the letter and read the first line. His brow furrowed, and he then read it carefully in its entirety.

After finishing it, Marcus gripped the letter in his hands and quickly walked up to the smithy.

"Ysmir..." Glover muttered as he was Marcus. "It looks even more intimidating when its on you."

Marcus grunted. "Good. Might incite you into telling me the truth."

"What?"

Marcus shoved the piece of paper in Glover's face. "How old is this letter?"

"What?" Glover said again.

"Simple question. How old is the letter?"

"Where did you get that? That's not yours!"

Marcus shoved Glover backward. With the young man's strength and the weight of the armor behind it, the blacksmith was sent onto his back. Luckily it was very early morning, and no-one was nearby to see or care.

"You're not answering my question!" Marcus shouted, stepped forward and towering over the man. "When did you write this letter?!"

"A-A few years ago..." Glover stammered.

Marcus closed his eyes inside his helmet and stepped back. He shook his head in disgust. Glover clambered to his feet, winded and dirty from falling onto the soot-covered ground.

Marcus had always had a soft spot for Sapphire. She'd proven to be a reliable member of the Thieves Guild, and more than that, she'd proven to be a strong-willed person of significant depth. Not many people could take a tragic past and accept it… turn it into fuel for something practical. Marcus himself hadn't quite managed it.

Initially, Sapphire had treated Marcus like dirt, doing much to wound the young man's pride in the ways that only a beautiful lady could. But after a many talks and earning her respect, Marcus had breached her hard shell. When she confessed the tragedy that'd unfolded years prior, it'd made his heart melt. He expressed as much sympathy as she would let him, and made a personal vow on the spot to never let anything happen to her ever again.

So one could imagine the anger the young man felt upon hearing that the girl's father had been in Solstheim all this time, too damn afraid to face the daughter he'd abandoned, letting her live in ignorance of the truth of her family.

Marcus wanted to punch Glover in the face, and probably would've if such an act didn't have a good chance of killing the sod. Instead, Marcus opted for a different plan.

"You… you shouldn't poke your nose into matters that don't concern you!" Glover grumbled, reaching for the letter.

Marcus moved the letter away from his grasping hand and shoved him backward, though not hard enough to knock him over again. "I'm **making** this concern me. I'm going to do what you should've done years ago, the second you found out Sapphire was your daughter. I'm going to tell her the truth."

"I… You..." Glover looked like he was about to protest, but knew he was hopeless. Not much could've stood in Marcus' way regarding this, much less after he'd donned his Dragonplate armor.

"How could you do it?" Marcus' voice lowered to one of disappointment. "How could you just abandon her like that?"

"I… I was scared."

"I would have thought a father's love would outweigh that… I guess I'm wrong."

Glover looked up guiltily. "If… If your resigned to giving that to her… Would you ask her to come visit me? Give me a chance to explain it all in person?"

Marcus looked at the man with an unwavering gaze. "I will tell her the truth, in its entirety. After that, it's is up to her whether or not she wishes to see you."

Glover hung his head, nodding faintly with glum acceptance. The young man turned and walked away, out of Raven Rock and back up toward the Skaal Village. The letter would need to be delivered at a later time. He had a few things to do first.

Saving the world, chief among them.

* * *

The Skaal village was quiet. Resigned, almost. Marcus knew at once that Storn had told them of his intentions. As he got closer, he could already hear the sounds of argument coming from the main hut. Frea's voice was loud and desperate. Her father's was consoling and sad in contrast.

Marcus didn't know whether or not he should enter the building. He felt that perhaps he might be a voice of authority to add to Storn's position, but he could also just be an outsider meddling in the personal affairs of a family. In the end he didn't have to make a decision, as Frea burst out of the front door and stormed off towards the forge area.

She glanced in Marcus' direction, gave him an unreadable expression, and continued on her way. He was going to follow and try to console her in whatever way he could, but a voice from behind him spoke first.

"Leave her be. I don't think there are any words that could calm her."

Marcus turned to see Serana there, a look of sad acceptance on her face.

She said, "Time, I think, is the best remedy for her angry heart."

Marcus chewed his lip, then sighed. "You're right. Doesn't make me feel any better, though."

"Worry about yourself. I see with your… 'attire', you're planning on facing Miraak sooner rather than later."

He nodded. "Yeah. As soon as Storn is ready, I guess. How did the village take the news?"

"Better than we thought." Serana glanced around at the place and its lack of activity. "They were angry at first, like Frea, but now they're transitioning from disillusioned to glum acceptance."

"Probably the best we can hope for." Marcus sighed. He walked over to a the well and sat on its edge, breathing out.

"What about you? I'm starting to see some wear and tear," Serana said softly, sitting beside him, looking at his eyes. "How are you faring? With the pressure and all."

He shrugged. "I dunno. It is what it is. One would've thought after saving the world twice I'd become a big more accustomed to the feeling, but..." He looked up at her and gave a small smile. "It would seem not."

Serana rolled her eyes. "Only you could take the sensation of being scared about the fate of the world resting on your shoulders, and twist it into you doing something wrong. As if you're failing to live up to some set of expectations."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "But the reality is, no-one has ever done what you have. You're like a ship charting new territory. Don't begrudge yourself a few normal, human emotions."

Marcus smiled subtly at the snowy ground between his feet. "Well… just a few..." Then he turned to face Serana, and kissed her properly for several long seconds.

Once they parted, she looked smokily up at him, and a glint in her eyes alluded to a potential question she might've been about to ask had Storn not come out of his cabin, and called out over the village.

"Brothers and sisters of the Skaal! It is time!"

As if they'd been awaiting this moment, and dreading it, the Skaal villagers came out of their houses towards them. Their heads were hung. Their pride had been forsaken… their secrets about to be given to their worst enemy. Marcus couldn't help but feel bad. They were a proud people, and they had every right to be. They didn't deserve this.

"Marcus?" Storn called. "Bring the book please."

The young man nodded, and retrieved the large Black Book from the small hut he and Serana had kept it in. He walked over and placed it into the old mans hands. Storn seemed to wince as his fingers touched the cover.

Frea came up beside him. "Father, you must not do this. That book is… wrong. It's evil. What you do goes against everything you have taught me my whole life."

Storn sighed, nodding solemnly in understanding. "You are right my dear, but also wrong. I must do this. It's the only way to free Solstheim forever from Miraak's shadow."

"But..." Frea gesticulated wildly. "But this isn't what our teachings would want! We should fight this evil, no matter what it offers!"

Storn placed the book on the ground, and slowly walked up to Frea. The young man had tears in her eyes, but was angrily trying to blink them away.

Storn smiled and wiped her face. "Always the fiercest of us, Frea. There comes a time when everything must change. Nothing that lives remains the same forever. Do not fear for me, my daughter. This is the destiny that the All-Maker has laid out for me. I go to it willingly, with no regrets."

"I..." Frea drew in a deep breath, and embraced him. "I stand beside you father, as always."

He nodded as Frea withdrew herself, and picked up the Black Book. "I am ready for whatever the foul master of this book has in store for me."

Marcus' breath hitched in his throat as Storn reached to open it up. Serana clutched his arm from his side, equally anxious. As soon as the tome was open, large black tentacles burst from its pages. But they didn't wrap around Storn's neck.

They impaled him.

"Father!" Frea screamed.

A venomous, deep voice rang out over the village. "At last… The Skaal yield up their secrets to me."

Storn was hoisted up by the large black appendage stuck through his chest. He coughed out a spray of dark red blood. "You… liar… I won't..."

Frea ran forward and tried to push away the book, but it didn't move. She turned to Marcus and screamed again. "Do something!"

Marcus drew his sword and in an instant struck at the large tentacle, but the blade seemed to pass through it like a trickle of water.

Storn coughed again, though the sound was wetter, with more blood. The tentacle dropped him to the ground a moment later and seemed to turn and face Marcus.

Hermaeus Mora's voice spoke again. "Dragonborn… you have delivered me the gift I requested. In return, I keep my promise as befits a Prince of Oblivion. I give you the Word of Power that you need to challenge Miraak. You will either be a worthy opponent or his successor, as the tides of fate decree."

Marcus staggered back, his eyes wide. He didn't know what to do. What to say. A man had just been impaled in front of him and there hadn't been anything he could do.

The book fell to the ground and the tentacle slunk back inside it. The cover snapped shut. Silence filled the air.

Frea fell to her father's side, clutching his bloody body. "Father… what have you done..." She pressed her forehead to his, and sobbed. The other Skaal slowly gathered in a rough circle around them. Some wore shocked, speechless expressions. Others just looked sad, and regretful.

Frea eventually looked up at Marcus, her father's blood staining her face and hands. She growled, "Go… My father sacrificed himself so that you could destroy Miraak and lift his master's shadow from the land." She grabbed the Black Book and tossed it at his feet. "Go then. Kill Miraak. Do **not** fail."

Marcus picked up the tome and took a step back. He felt like he'd just been given an order. The others gathered around Frea to gently pull her away from the body and offer words of condolences. Marcus moved away. He realized there was nothing he could do to make their situation any better. They had their own customs for something like this. And he had a duty to do. He owed it to them to complete it.

As if they'd been almost forgotten by the Skaal villagers in the wake of their Shaman's brutal death, Marcus and Serana moved over to the front of the village on the path that led to the Wind Stone. A few metres away from the buildings, they looked at each other with a glance.

"There was nothing we could do." Serana said.

Marcus replied, "I know. I… I guess I better make it worth something."

He hefted up the book and held it in his hands with a kind of reservation. Serana watched him from a few steps away. The distance was small, but also vast. She couldn't come with him. She wouldn't be by his side for this one. The look on her face told him that she hated it at least as much as he did.

"Come back to me..." Serana pleaded softly.

Marcus' heart did a few funny leaps, and warmed his chest a little. He gave her an endearing grin. "Hey, I made you a promise. One I fully intend to keep." He looked back down at the book, before the grin – and the casual demeanor that accompanied it – faded quickly. He reached to his side and grabbed his helmet. He put it on, the bone and metal masking his expression with the visage of some type of Dragon-knight. Someone who seemed to be more steeled than Marcus himself felt. He breathed out, and looked back at her, eyes plain and earnest. "I love you."

Then he opened the book before she could respond, and the thick black tentacles pulled him inside.

For Marcus, the world went cold and slimy. Like some weird creature's tongue ran across his skin. Then the air warmed and he felt hard ground under his feet. He opened his eyes.

Apocrypha felt different. The air was sharper, as though the realm itself had sucked in its breath in anticipation for the coming battle. No doubt Hermaeus Mora was watching, with probably as much excitement as a Daedra could experience. Marcus dimly wondered if they ever got sick of screwing with mortals. Doubtful. A man never got sick of drinking water.

The same space that he'd come across on his first-ever visit to Apocrypha was laid out in front of him. A wide platform with a raised section at the far end under an archway, and one of the transport books on a dais. Beyond it was a huge tower, as tall as a mountain. A dragon circled at the top, the extreme distance making the gigantic creature look small.

Past experience made him certain navigating the place wouldn't be easy. Not from his past experiences fighting through Apocrypha, but with saving the world. There was always a few minor challenges before the big one. Skuldafn. Volkihar's exterior. This would be no different. Marcus wasn't kidding himself into thinking his luck would change now.

But the minor challenges had never stopped him before, and he'd be damned if he let them stop him now. He reached down and drew his sword, the handle almost flying into his hand eagerly. He could use a warm-up anyway.

* * *

Marcus looked at the word wall. It glowed bright, with the power of a Thu'um he'd only seen a couple times. He could guess what it would be. It made his nerves tingle a little in anticipation. There were two shouts that Miraak himself seemed to favor. Or at least, two shouts that seemed to be found in places relating to Miraak.

Marcus touched the glowing Dovahzul text. A word burned itself into his mind. _Diiv._

The final word to the shout that bestowed the wielder with ethereal armor and strength. A welcome addition to his arsenal, and something that finally put him on the exact same playing field as Miraak.

The first had been in the Temple of Miraak, while the second he'd found in the crypt beneath Raven Rock, when he was hunting around the island for the corrupted stones. Marcus always felt a small sense of achievement when he completed all three words of a shout. Like finishing all the chapters to a good book series.

The heavy beating of wings drew Marcus out of his thoughts, and he spun around away from the word wall with his sword drawn. A dragon flew down from the distant colossal tower, no doubt sent by Miraak. That was good. It meant Miraak didn't know Marcus had learned every word of the Bend Will shout.

 _More fool him,_ Marcus thought, breathing in deeply.

As the Dragon drew closer, it looked down at the young man like it was going to state some scornful statement about his arrogance to take the claim of Dragonborn. But Marcus didn't give it the chance. He rehearsed in his mind the three words that had cost him so much to learn.

"Gol… Hah Dov!"

The orange and yellow ball of energy burst from his lips and washed over the approaching beast. It slowed down, and hovered in the air above the platform on which Marcus stood. Marcus recognized it as the dragon he'd seen Miraak climb onto during his first visit to Apocrypha, when he'd gotten his ass handed to him.

The Dragon stayed there in the air for a few long moments, staring down at the young man in an almost curious fashion. Marcus tensed up, wary all of a sudden. What if Hermaeus Mora had tricked him? What if the shout was useless and served some other purpose, like a taunt?

The serpentine Dragon dropped to the ground with a crunch. It looked at Marcus, then bowed its head.

"Your Thu'um is stronger than Miraak's. Vobalaan in. I, Sahrotaar, serve you now."

"Woah..." Marcus blinked. "Just like that?"

Sahrotaar nodded. "Your Thu'um has freed me. Miraak has forced me to serve him for too long. Nahkriin saraan lingrah. Let us destroy him together."

Marcus looked at the large scaly beast. He didn't know whether he'd actually done the Dragon a favor, or if its words were just reflective of its bent will just trying to justify its loyalty switching so quickly. Either way though, it didn't matter.

 _Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth,_ Marcus thought to himself. _Or dragon, rather…_

Sahrotaar lowered his head to the ground. "Come. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak. He awaits at the summit."

"Awaits?"

"Geh. Miraak has prepared. He knew you would attempt to stop him."

Marcus frowned. "How? Did Hermaeus Mora tell him?"

"No… Miraak said you were 'predictable'. That you would hasten to try and halt the inevitable."

Marcus' frown deepened. "Inevitable, huh? Well… time to prove him wrong."

The Dragon nodded in agreement. Marcus stepped forward and climbed onto the back of its head. He found a spot between the spines on its neck that wasn't too uncomfortable. He breathed out, nodding quietly to himself.

He said, "Let's go. Dez huzrah wah Zu'u."

Sahrotaar rumbled in assent, and took off into the skies. The colossal tower awaited.

* * *

The top of the tower was relatively flat. It was around the size of a large courtyard, with a few small archways on the edges, a small raised platform on one edge, and a dark pool of liquid in the centre.

Sahrotaar landed with a thud near the middle. Miraak stood on the small raised platform, facing away and looking down at a black book.

"Are you so easily swayed, Sahrotaar?" Miraak asked in a disappointed tone.

The Dragon growled in response. "Zu'u los nid lingrah hin aar."

"I always knew you were weak-minded." Miraak sighed. He turned around and Marcus' grip on his drawn sword tightened. The young man dropped off the Dragon's back and slowly walked towards Miraak with his sword by his side. The fingers on his left hand twitched, eager to cast a spell or grip his dagger. The anticipation for battle reared like a vicious dog straining at a leash.

Miraak stopped a good 10 metres away from him. "And so the first Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha, no doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended."

Marcus nodded slowly. "Quite. You shouldn't have trusted him."

"He is a fickle master. But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over." Miraak drew himself up to his full height. He stood about almost as tall as Marcus, even only in robed armor. "You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power. You will die, and with the power of your soul I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again."

Marcus slowly bent over into a combat pose. "Many have tried to kill me. Some, greater than you."

"You do not have destiny on your side any longer, Marcus Lavernius." Miraak stated, drawing his dark green sword. "Your intertwinement with fate ends with me, this I know."

Then they each breathed in at the same time, and uttered the same words.

"Mul… Qah Diiv!"

Ethereal energies wrapped themselves around each warrior, forming plates of draconic armor on each. The ones covering Marcus were broader, while Miraak's were spikier.

Then the first Dragonborn raised his sword and charged. Marcus, feeling the rush of energy as his anxiety gave way to clarity, gave a brief smile and did the same. They met in the centre of the platform, their blades clashing overhead as Marcus blocked Miraak's swing. The intense force of their combined strength, imbued with power from the shout, would've made weapons of any other materials shatter. They began dueling with a speed and intensity that would've seemed almost inhuman to any regular observer.

Which, in a way, it was.

Marcus thrusted for Miraak's neck, who deftly flicked his blade upwards and deflected it over his shoulder before slashing at Marcus' exposed wrist. The young man reacted quickly and pulled his arm back so the blade missed the exposed areas and only scratched the thick ebony-reinforced bone.

Marcus drew his dagger with his left hand and slashed at the other man's stomach. Miraak dodged backwards and charged a fireball in his off-hand. Marcus stepped forward and darted his sword out to the exposed hand. Miraak managed to pull his hand away, but not before Marcus' sword sliced through the gap between his fingers and split open an inch of the thin webbing of skin between them. Not a big wound, but painful.

Not painful enough to cancel the spell, however. Miraak unleashed the fireball at Marcus' chest, who was unable to dodge from such a short range. He felt the dull impact on his chestplate, followed by a burning wave of heat. His enchantments reduced most of the potential the spell could've held, though.

It continued like this for a long time. Just endless back and forth, with minor victories being scored on both sides. A cut here, a burn there. Spell and blade darted across the ever-variable distance between them. They each paced themselves, knowing in their bones that this would be a long fight. Long, and brutal.

After a while, at least 5 minutes of endless trading of blows and cuts, Miraak seemed to get impatient.

He breathed in deep, "Fus..."

Seeing and recognizing the threat, Marcus countered. As soon as Miraak was about to utter the last two words of the shout, Marcus 'replied' with Become Ethereal. The three words of Unrelenting Force passed harmlessly through him, but also gave Miraak an opportunity. He retreated backwards a few steps and charged a thunderbolt into his hand. As soon as the ethereal state dissipated, Marcus copped the bolt straight to the chest, knocking him backwards a few paces. Though, he managed to stay on his feet.

Miraak held his sword out straight, pointed at Marcus. The blade seemed to shift, growing watery. The metal turned to glossy black flesh and a long tentacle darted towards Marcus, set to pierce through the weaker armor covering one of his joints.

 _Not this time,_ Marcus thought.

With the blunt of his sword he smacked aside the appendage, then reached forward with his left hand and grabbed a hold of it. It wriggled in his grasp, slippery as a fish. With a huge pull, Marcus ripped the tentacle and the sword it was connected to out of Miraak's grasp. The masked man looked down at his hands, finding himself unarmed.

Marcus capitalized on the opportunity, charging at Miraak while pulling his dagger out of its sheathe again and hurling it at the unprotected man. After so much practice, the dagger flew through the air as fast as a magical projectile and slammed into the man's shoulder. Miraak staggered backwards, cursing in some long-dead language, before wrenching it out of his shoulder and flinging it back at Marcus.

Fortunately, Miraak didn't have as much practice with knife-throwing as the younger man, and it smacked against one of the thick shoulder plates of his armor. It left a deep scratch, but did nothing else. Marcus kept sprinting at Miraak, raising his sword up to cleave through his robed armor in one blow.

The first Dragonborn saw the incoming danger, and acted quickly.

"Wuld, Nah Kest!"

As Marcus' sword descended down, it found itself slicing nothing but air. Miraak was suddenly on the other side of the platform, facing upwards towards the circling Sahrotaar. Visibly steeling himself, Miraak breathed in and shouted again.

"Gol… Ha Dov!"

The yellow and orange circle of energy rushed over the Dragon, and Marcus felt his heart drop as the beast switched its gaze to him and roared in anger. No doubt it'd convinced itself that Miraak had saved it from Marcus' cruel servitude. He wondered what the Dragon's original disposition had been. It probably would've hated both of them.

"Sahrotaar!" Miraak commanded. "Golt Zu'u lok!"

The Dragon, seemingly understanding, descended down toward the platform. Marcus began sprinting at Miraak, unleashing a few fireballs from his left hand as he ran. The older man looked visibly weakened, after using two powerful shouts back-to-back, but he wasn't in any real danger. Marcus hoped he could reach the unarmed man before the Dragon did, but he had no such luck. Sahrotaar landed with a crunch between him and the other Dragonborn, and promptly unleashed a gout of frost at the approaching man.

Marcus was forced to drop to his knees and raise a ward spell in front of him, giving Miraak time to climb onto Sahrotaar's neck. With the heavy beat of its wings, the Dragon lifted off, leaving Marcus essentially alone on the platform with very little cover.

Knowing he was essentially a sitting duck, perfect for being picked apart from a distance by spells, Marcus thought quickly for a way to even the field. Dragonrend was a viable option, but unsustainable, and Sahrotaar would likely have to die before Marcus could get Miraak within sword's reach again.

An idea formed in his mind, and the young man accepted it on realizing there wasn't really an alternative. It mightn't work, but if it did, it would both catch Miraak off guard and entirely eliminate his airborne advantage.

Sahrotaar swooped down low, aiming to strafe the top of the tower. Miraak would no doubt be throwing extra magical damage in Marcus' direction too.

The young man broke into a run, aiming for the closest edge of the platform. He could hear the churning roar of the Dragon's frost breath striking the stone behind him as he ran. He could also just distantly make out the crackle of the lightning curling in Miraak's palm.

Marcus reached the edge of the tower and didn't slow down. With a silent prayer that what he had in mind would work, he leapt off the edge of the tower.

A few seconds later, a word rang out from over the edge.

"Durnehviir!"

* * *

Miraak watched with a growing smile beneath his mask as Marcus ran away from the oncoming danger. The sight of the tenacious, half-rate Dragonborn running for his life across the platform was almost too good to believe. Marcus realized with a wider smile that this is the kind of sight he'd be seeing a lot of very soon. People running in fear from an oncoming Dragon, with himself riding it.

Marcus reached the edge of the platform, and Miraak almost expected him to turn around and start begging. Not that it would've done any good. The First Dragonborn would've killed him for the trophy his armor alone provides, even without all the annoyances and hinderances the young man had caused him.

What Miraak wasn't expecting however, was for Marcus to continue sprinting and hurl himself off the edge of the tower. Even Sahrotaar stopped his low dive and slowed to a hover. Had he just killed himself? Hurled himself off the platform to spare himself from the humiliation of dying by Miraak's hand? The robed man frowned a second later, as he'd looked forward to the satisfaction of besting another one of his kind. As inexperienced and arrogant as Marcus might've been, Miraak had never had the privilege of fighting another Dragonborn, and would never have the chance again.

 _Disappointing,_ Miraak thought. _I expected far more from the man who defeated Aldu-_

"Durnehviir!"

Miraak blinked. Then Sahrotaar gulped. The dragon actually swallowed. He could feel the muscles contract through the scales on the beasts neck.

"What was that?" Miraak demanded. "Was that a shout?"

"Worse..." Came the rumbling reply from the Dragon.

A black and grey shape shot upwards over the edge of the tower, arcing high into the sky. Miraak's heart simultaneously fell and burned with indignation as he recognized it as a Dragon… with the armored figure of Marcus behind its head.

"Impossible..." Miraak muttered, watching the other Dragon circle around and approach them. Sahrotaar recovered quicker than he did, and began heaving his wings to escape from the intercept path. But they'd both spent too much time in stunned observation.

Durnehviir swooped just over them, Miraak being able to pick out the tattered wings and blackened scales. It opened its maw as it passed and uttered three words he'd never heard a Dragon use before.

"Rii, Vaaz Zol!"

A purple orb burst from the Dragon's mouth and slammed into Sahrotaar's flank. The serpentine Dragon roared in pain, though physically it looked like nothing had hurt it. Then an incinerate spell struck Miraak in the shoulder, searing the flesh on his upper chest. He shouted in pain, then swore as Durnheviir banked right and quickly veered away from him so he no longer had a clear line of sight at Marcus for retaliation.

"Enough!" Miraak shouted, summoning a bound sword into his hands. "Follow them, then rip that old hunk of hide to pieces while I deal with its rider!"

Sahrotaar growled in assent, not having the willpower to voice his doubts.

The two Dragons circled around, then began to approach each other quickly with neither slowing down. Talons and teeth bared, each beast prepared for a vicious grapple. Miraak braced himself as the collision was imminent.

Sahrotaar and Durnheviir slammed into each other with enough force to probably break a few bones on both sides. They then began to rip and tear at each other, twisting through the sky. Miraak saw Marcus' body only in brief glimpses, giving him very few openings to slash at the man. Though, the same situation applied to Marcus.

Miraak knew he needed to be careful though, as the Dragonbone blade had more weight that his summoned one, and he could easily find himself disarmed again.

Then the Dragons broke apart and flew off to regain some altitude. They bore numerous scratches across their scales and wings. Black blood dripped from Sahrotaar's jaws, and Miraak wasn't sure who it belonged to. It didn't matter, though. Durnheviir had to be just as badly injured.

"Again." Miraak commanded. "Go in close again. Try to get me within sword's reach of the rider this time."

Sahrotaar growled in assent, and heaved at the air to circle around again. The two dragons approached again, like horses at a jousting tournament. The collision this time was harder, with each Dragon more tired and less able to coordinate their movements smoothly. They grappled and tore at each other's skin with their talons like vicious beasts, though Miraak was more concerned on the opposing rider.

With each glimpse the two riders had of each other, they managed to exchanged several blows back and forth. Cutting at each other's heads and arms with enough force behind their Thu'um-infused limbs to nearly knock each other off their mounts when the blows connected.

Miraak watched Durnehviir's claw raked across Sahrotaar's neck, and quickly slashed at it with his sword. The bound blade bit into the aged scales and released a spurt of black blood. Almost instantly afterward, he felt the cold bite of Marcus' sword as he capitalized on Miraak's distraction, and slashed him across the back.

Miraak twisted around and swung blindly, but felt his sword just scrape off of some armor. Whether it was Marcus' dragonbone plate or Durnehviir's scales, it made no difference, as no damage was inflicted.

But Sahrotaar was having more success, fighting the older Dragon. With a lucky twist, it reached around with its head and clamped his jaws on Durnehviir's neck. A crunch filled the air, followed by a groan from Durnehviir as the serpentine Dragon's teeth breached the scales.

"Qahnaarin!" Durnehviir shouted, less in alarm and more in warning.

Miraak watched as the body of the black dragon began to fade away, becoming transparent. He wasn't sure if it was dead or whatever magic that brought it here was fading, but it didn't matter. Marcus suddenly looked very vulnerable. Miraak was about to laugh at him when the young man leapt off the disappearing Dragon, onto Sahrotaar, and punched him in the face.

The air was driven out of Miraak's lungs in surprise, and he felt the huge weight of Marcus pushing his centre of gravity backwards. They wrestled atop the Dragon's back for a few moments, trading a few punches. Then Marcus grabbed a hold of Miraak by the shoulders and looked down at the body of the Dragon beneath them.

"Fus..."

Miraak's eyes widened. _There was no way he'd be that insane…_

"Ro Dah!"

Blue energy burst from Marcus and slammed into the Dragon. The force of the shout physically propelled Sahrotaar out from underneath both Dragonborn, and Miraak found himself falling through the air toward the tower platform far below. The wind rushed in his ears as Marcus began punching him again. Miraak, eyes ablaze with fury, started swinging in retaliation.

And so they continued fighting as they fell, battering each other with clenched fists, as the world rushed up to meet them.

* * *

Marcus awoke to the feeling of half his bones being broken. Or at least, that's what it felt like. His right arm and right leg were immobile, and a good handful of his ribs had splintered. He didn't feel any pain, surprisingly. That was probably a bad sign. Sensory overload, or something like it.

He summoned as much magicka as he could and released it as a channeled blast through his body. Bones painfully clicked back together, and wounds closed themselves. A good start, but he'd suffered far too much damage for restoration magic to heal alone. The pain returned though, starting with an ache in his chest that alluded to a significant amount of internal bleeding. The ache got worse over the following seconds. He felt like one of his ribs had literally exploded and filled his organs like little shards of bony shrapnel.

Still, Miraak had to be in a similar shape. Marcus heaved himself onto his side, and looked around. His last memory during the fall was landing a particularly satisfying hook to the side of the man's head, before he'd seen a rapidly approaching dark mass in his peripheral vision, and everything had gone black.

Marcus had initially intended to turn ethereal before he'd hit the ground, as Miraak probably had, but he guessed they both hadn't paid enough attention to it. Good thing he'd had the ethereal armor on, or he mightn't have survived. It'd worn off now, though.

He saw Miraak standing a short way away, in a very injured state. He was standing, clutching his side with bloodied fingers and leaning in a way that put less weight on one leg. He was looking up at Sahrotaar, who'd come down to hover nearby. Durnehviir had done a number on the serpentine Dragon, as it looked practically crippled.

"Sahrotaar!" Miraak called, his voice rasping through broken teeth. "Ziil los dii du!"

 _What?_ Marcus thought, his mind translating the words and then wondering if it had done so correctly. _How would he be able to devour its soul when it's still…_

Sahrotaar reared upwards, head high, and brought a talon to his own neck. The claws were still blackened with the blood of Durnehviir. Marcus watched with horror as the Dragon stabbed itself in the neck, and sliced its own throat. It emitted a pained, sorrowful roar as a fountain of blood cascaded down the front of its body. Then the serpentine Dragon collapsed, head but 5 metres from where Miraak stood.

The flesh of Sahrotaar began to burn, and its soul burst forth from the corpse. The strands of light dove across the ground and rushed into Miraak's body. The man breathed in deeply, his posture righting itself and the arm that was bent at a misshapen angle re-aligning itself. The energy from absorbing the soul, translated straight into healing him his various injuries.

Then it was over, the soul entirely absorbed and Sahrotaar's body nothing but a shameful skeleton. Miraak turned back to face Marcus.

"You dishonorable son of a whore..." Marcus growled through gritted teeth.

Miraak waved a hand dismissively. "Do not lecture me. Even now, I've killed less Dragons than you."

"At least I fought them properly. With honor."

"Of course, ever the noble and righteous 'Last Dragonborn'." Miraak walked around the platform for a bit, trying to find his sword, no doubt. Marcus tried to channel a little more restoration magic through his body, but it did nothing but alleviate some of the pain. Some injuries were large enough they couldn't be fixed with magic alone.

Miraak looked over at him, shaking his head in disappointment. He'd seemingly given up looking for his weapon. He probably felt he wouldn't need it. "The noble Dragonborn… what a joke. You think your doing the world any favours? You think you're saving it? You think you've ever saved it? How many times has Nirn danced to the tune of its own destruction in the last couple years alone? You do nothing but delay."

"You don't know that" gasped Marcus, pushing at the ground and getting to his knees. "You don't know if that's true, but you're terrified of any alternative because it'd mean you'd actually have to face the mirror."

"I don't expect you to understand. You are young, even by regular standards. But your words don't matter. You will die here, by my hand."

Marcus wiped his face, only managing to smear blood onto his bone-white gauntlets. "Yeah, how's that coming along?"

Miraak looked down at his blood-soaked robes, and shook his head in disgust. "You are strong. Stronger than I believed possible. But in the end it will make no difference. This battle was decided before it began."

"Stop bullshitting you scum-sucking son of a bitch" Marcus said venomously, running out of patience. Miraak took a step back at such language.

Marcus continued. "Hermaeus Mora may be evil, but he's placed at least half his bet on my victory. You've always been arrogant, but now you're acting deluded. You don't know if you'll win this fight, admit it."

Miraak huffed, and swept his arm across the sky. "You think Hermaeus Mora cares for you? For me? You think any of the Gods give half a damn about your sorry mortal hide? We are vessels, and nothing more. The difference is I have the will to act against it. The gods you serve by fighting me will only toss you aside once you've outlived your usefulness."

Marcus smiled at how the man had subtly avoided the second half of his previous statement. The smile made him coughed violently for a few seconds, spitting out a glob of blood and mucous from his lungs. Internal bleeding was a bitch. His legs had gone numb.

Miraak folded his arms in disappointment, as if he'd been expecting another retort from him and was disappointed by the lack of one. "Alessia, Reman, Tiber Septim, Martin Septim… All of them had a purpose, and all of them were manipulated by the Gods in various ways from their births to their deaths. We are a resource to be consumed to reshape Nirn, over and over again."

Marcus breathed out in a heavy sigh, and slowly stood up using his arms to steady himself. "Imbecile..."

"What was that?" Miraak said, glaring at him and taking a step forward.

"You don't get it. You think I'm fighting to save a giant lump of rock? Fighting to save 'Nirn'? To save some concept of civilization? The world itself can go get fucked."

Miraak took a step back, almost shocked. "Then… what are you fighting for?!"

Marcus swallowed the blood trickling into his mouth, and breathed out. "I fight for the things you, and people like you, never see. For the orphaned child who'd watched his father burn in dragonfire before his very eyes. For the families huddling behind locked doors at night in fear of vampires. For the workers and hunters in villages you'd see razed for a few scraps of knowledge."

The young man drew himself up, and clenched his hands into fists. "The lives of people are the only things of true value in this world. That is what I fight for. I've protected them thus far, and I'll protect them from you too."

Miraak growled. "You will try..."

Then Miraak was charging, and Marcus felt himself charge in retaliation. His battered, bruised body pushing itself forward, blood rushing through his veins. Neither of them had any weapons, and the younger man was still badly injured from the fall. It didn't matter.

They met in the centre of the platform like uncaged animals. Miraak leapt upwards and drove a lightning-fast punch down at Marcus, who raised both arms above his head to block it. Miraak's fist smacked against his armored forearms, and so he pushed it to the side with one hand then slammed the other into Miraak's stomach.

Miraak made an 'oof' sound, then retaliated with a wild haymaker that Marcus managed to barely dodge. Given a few feet of extra space, he then lunged forward with a kick at to Miraak's ribs. It missed, with Miraak also dodging.

The few metres between the two vanished as they both charged again. Marcus hunched down low and ducked underneath another one of Miraak's punches, then breathed in deep.

"Yol… Tor Shul!"

An inferno exploded out of Marcus and smacked into Miraak's chest at point blank range. It was so close, even Marcus felt a little burnt from the impact explosion. The older man was flung a few metres away, his chest a scorched mess. He stood up quickly though, and channeled what had to be the remains of his magicka to heal his chest. Marcus had no way of knowing the extent he'd healed himself.

Miraak grunted in anger, before running at Marcus again. He feinted successfully with a right hook, which Marcus moved to block, then swung a short jab into the side of the heavy horned helmet. His fist made clanging noise against the metal that resonated louder on the inside. Then he followed up with a kick to the stomach that forced Marcus back a few paces.

Miraak took the brief chance he had to use another shout. "Su… Grah Dun!"

Then he charged forward throwing a series of punches and kicks with enough speed that his limbs literally looked like a blur. Marcus was forced backward, on the defensive. Dozens of punches got past his defense, and if not for his armour he'd have been put down well and truly.

After a few more seconds, a kick from Miraak slammed into Marcus' ribs and the young man felt a rib fracture. He dropped to his knees. Another kick slammed into the side of his head, and with a crack, Marcus felt his helmet fly off his head as the straps broke. Miraak, eyes gleaming with triumph, drew back a fist to bring it down on the him in an instant.

Then the shout wore off, and Miraak's punch came arcing downward at a fraction of his expected speed.

Marcus caught it in his palm, a heavy smack filling the air. He looked up from the ground, panting heavily but with a subtle smile on his face.

"My turn."

Marcus pulled at the hand he'd gripped, and wrenched Miraak off his feet onto the ground next to him. The younger man then leapt on top of him, and used his knees to pin Miraak to the ground. Then, in an almost measured way, Marcus began to pound an endless assault of punches directly onto Miraak's mask.

Miraak tried to stop the onslaught, poking and scratching at Marcus' face, but the man on top was heavier. After no less than 10 successful hits to the face, Marcus landed a particularly devastating punch with a satisfying side-effect. With a loud crack, the material Miraak's mask was made of shattered, and revealed the face underneath.

Marcus didn't know what he was expecting. Maybe something horribly disfigured, but not the almost-normal face he saw.

Miraak had no hair, with a strange tattoo covering most of the top of his head. His face bore a few scars, with high cheekbones and a broad chin. He was middle-aged, or perhaps even a little younger. His eyes stood out, though. In contrast to Marcus' burning hazel, his were a deep black. There were no whites to his eyes, just two pits of inky darkness.

Marcus was stunned for a second at the sight of his nemesis' face, which was just what aforementioned nemesis needed.

With a glare of pure hatred for exposing him, Miraak smashed the side of Marcus' jaw with a right hook and then kicked him in the groin to knock him backward. Then he stood up quickly, and breathed in deep. Despite the damage it would do to his throat to shout again so soon, Miraak persevered and uttered another three words.

"Fus, Ro Dah!"

Still dazed, Marcus was launched backward and tumbled across the platform. His head smacked against the edge of the stone surrounding the central pool of black water and his vision went blurry. Through a hazy set of eyes, he saw the dark figure of Miraak running over to something on the ground about 10 metres away. He picked it up, then sprinted at Marcus.

Marcus' watery, blurred vision tried to make out what Miraak had picked up. It looked like his dagger.

 _Get up you moron!_ Marcus screamed at himself and his concussed brain, _You will **NOT** be killed with your own blade…_

He moved to stand up, but some of Miraak's magicka must've regenerated because he fired an impact lightning bolt at the prone figure. The force smacked Marcus' head against the stone pool's edge again, and the dark corners of his vision snuck inward a little more.

Miraak was almost upon him now, raising the dagger upward to arc downward at his exposed head.

The young mans hands grasped at the ground, instinctively trying to reach for some weapon to defend himself. One hand reached into the acidic black water in the pool. The fingers brushed something. A handle.

Marcus grabbed a hold of the handle and swung it almost blindly at the figure upon him. A large dark-green shape flew across his vision, dragged by his dripping hand, and slashed across the figure about to bury a dagger into his skull.

Marcus' arm encountered a modicum of resistance, indicating he'd hit something. The figure of Miraak, leering over his body, jolted and dropped the blade. Then he staggered backward.

Marcus' vision began to clear as he felt a token of stamina return to his body, entering through the hand holding the dark-green shape.

He saw Miraak, standing a single pace away, clutching his throat. In Marcus' hand, was the his twisted black sword, the very tip stained red.

Blood began to well from between the fingers Miraak clutched his throat with. Slowly, then in a cascading river. He gurgled, eyes wide. He looked… shocked. Disbelieving.

Then a tentacle emerged from the black pool next to Marcus. It reared up and lunged for Miraak, who was about to collapse. It impaled him in the chest and hoisted him several metres off the ground, blood spurting from multiple wounds.

"Did you think you could escape me, Miraak?" The booming voice of Hermaeus Mora filled the air. "You can hide nothing from me here!"

"I… This can't be..." Miraak coughed a mouthful of dark red blood onto his chin.

Hermaeus continued. "No matter… I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me."

Miraak coughed again, and twisted his head to see where the battered form of Marcus lay. "M-May he be **cough** rewarded… with his service as I am..."

With a final twitch and splutter, the First Dragonborn went silent and still. Dead.

Then his skin began to burn…

Marcus stood up slowly as the soul of Miraak burned bright. The same energies that he'd always seen coating a dead Dragon's body rushed off the suspended man and flowed into him. He felt the rush of fire in his veins, somehow far stronger than anything he'd ever experienced. His fatigue faded and his vision cleared entirely.

Then the feeling dissipated, and the tentacle dropped Miraak's body. He'd been reduced to a skeleton.

A huge mass of tentacles, eyes, and inky bubbled appeared over the centre of the platform. Hermaeus Mora, set to congratulate his new champion. One large, central eye stared down at Marcus.

"It's over..." The young man stated, looking down at Miraak.

"It is… Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me. Learn from his example. Serve me faithfully and you will be richly rewarded."

Marcus looked up at the Daedra, and breathed out heavily. He looked down at the sword he'd used to kill the First Dragonborn with. A weapon that was no doubt a gift from Hermaeus Mora. He dropped it.

"Miraak is dead," he stated. "His claim over Tamriel is finished. We are done."

"No..." Hermaeus blinked slowly. "You and I have much more to discuss."

Marcus began limping away, over to the raised section at the far end of the platform where Miraak had been standing when he'd approached. "I will not walk the same path he did."

"You are acting unwise… You have too much potential to act rashly now."

"You are as much to blame for this debacle as Miraak," Marcus said as he staggered forward, shaking his head. He could feel the burning glare of the Daedra behind him. "The only difference is, I can't kill you..."

Marcus turned back, glancing at the huge eye fixed on him. "But I don't have to help you."

"Do not walk away from me!" Hermaeus Mora's voice boomed out again. "You are to serve me!"

"No..." Marcus said quietly, making his way slowly past the body of Sahrotaar. His eyes were fixed on the black book that lay on a dais just above the steps. It's cover bore the same symbol as the one that brought him to this place. It would take him home. "Leave me alone… Leave us all alone, for once in your rotten eternal life."

"You will return..." growled the voice from behind him. "You cannot resist what I have to offer. Men like you never can."

Marcus reached the book. He picked it up and ran his hands over the cover. It was funny.

There was a time when what the ugly daedra was saying had been true. He would've exploited Hermaeus Mora for practically everything he was worth, and probably could've even got away with his soul and morality intact. Maybe. He would've used the realm of Apocrypha as a source of power to fight and survive countless battles, righting wrongs the whole world over.

But that time was gone. He wasn't the same person he'd been after he'd killed Alduin. He didn't need, or want, anymore power. And at this point, there was a more waiting for him on the other side of the book. He opened it without a second more of hesitation. He felt his vision turn white, and the warm sulphuric air of Apocrypha fade. Whatever secrets and knowledge that that place could've held, he didn't care. He just wanted to leave. He'd won.

There was nothing else left for him in Apocrypha, and the opposite was true for Nirn.

Then the cold bite of snowy air hit his skin, and Marcus heard the joyed gasp of the woman he loved. He opened his eyes to see Serana's staring back, shining with tears.

Admist the flurries of snow, they embraced each other. Hermaeus Mora's black book fell to the ground... forgotten.

"You won..." Serana whispered in a voice that indicated she was on the verge of sobbing. "You did it."

Marcus pushed her back a little, so he could look her in the eyes. "Hey, I made a promise…"

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Late chapter again, but mid-semester assessment took up most of my time. Hopefully it was worth the wait. Let me know if you want to see Marcus do a few more things in Solstheim to wrap up, or head straight back to Skyrim to deal with what has occurred in his absence…**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	56. Dragonborn: Epilogue

A Doom Driven Hero: Dragonborn Epilogue – Loose Ends

Marcus laid awake, staring at the roof of the room he'd rented. The Retching Netch was comfortable, but he knew he'd probably have to consider getting a house in Raven Rock if he was to spend much more time in Solstheim. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any available. The town was quite close-knit as well, and despite the work he'd done getting their mine back to working order, Marcus wasn't quite sure if he'd be a welcome addition to the community.

But it wasn't the state of Solstheim's estate market that was keeping him awake. It was Frea's parting words, and the fact that his introspective nature had been ignored for too long. Like a neglected child, Marcus' contemplations danced into his mind and began to hog its metaphorical stage.

" _Do not let Herma-Mora lure you further down the path he forced you onto to defeat Miraak. The All-Maker made you Dragonborn for a higher purpose. Do not forget that. Walk with the All-Maker, Skaal-friend."_

The final parting sentence had warmed his heart at the time. Marcus had been responsible for her father's death, arguably in a direct fashion. He'd given the old man the advice that'd spurned him to turn the Skaal's secrets over to the Prince of Fate. He'd watched as the gentle, wise shaman had been impaled through the chest and tossed aside like a doll. Marcus was no stranger to viscera, but the memory still made his stomach twist.

And despite all that, Frea had forgiven him. She'd called him 'Skaal-friend'. Friend of the Skaal. She'd been concerned enough about him that she'd offered advice and a warning. He felt it was more than he deserved. She would succeed her father well.

Serana shifted beside him. Her bare legs rubbed up against his, and she unconsciously snuggled closer to him. He would've liked to turn to face her – watch her sleep. It was a secret hobby of his, just gazing at the peaceful, pretty face as it rhythmically breathed in and out. But alas, if he moved now she'd be disturbed. She deserved her rest, especially after the tricks she'd pulled an hour earlier.

Again, another person treating him in a fashion he felt he didn't deserve. Perhaps he was the one who was wrong. Maybe he did deserve such treatment?

The image of Storn's bloody corpse on the ground flashed through his head. Erik's bloody corpse. Kodlak's bloody corpse. Titus Mede's bloody corpse.

Perhaps not.

Frea's words rang through his head again. She'd stated Marcus was made Dragonborn for a higher purpose. It implied said purpose wasn't yet completed. That was a very frustrating insinuation, if it was indeed true. He was savior of the world three times over. Would the Gods make him push that up to four? He hoped not. Still, when had he ever gotten what he'd hoped for?

Serana shifted again, her naked chest brushing against his shoulder. He smiled to himself. He'd gotten some of the things he'd hoped for, at least. Things that mattered, anyway.

Marcus entertained the thought of what he'd do if another call to adventure was thrown his way. Would he seek it out with the tenacity and will he'd done previously? Or would he ignore it? What were the potential consequences for both courses of action?

He'd meant what he's said to Miraak. Marcus valued the lives of the people dearly. Every threat to them, be it bandit or Dragon, was a problem he wanted desperately to solve. The trouble was he didn't know if his continued intervention would actually make a difference. World-ending prophecies would demand his attention, of course, but he had an inkling there wouldn't be many more of those regarding him...

Marcus allowed himself a brief sigh. The answers had once been so easy to reach. Now it was blurred behind the layers of expectation, experience, and the things he had to lose.

A quiet voice in his head spoke up. _No-one ever said it would be easy…_

 _No-one ever said it would be anything,_ Marcus frowned. _I hardly got a job description._

It did really matter right now, though. He could leave such problems to the future version of himself. All he had to do now was fall asleep.

* * *

"Really?" Neloth asked, raising his eyebrows. "You trust me enough to safeguard the Black Books?"

"Only temporarily, and no, I don't." Marcus sighed. "But I trust everyone else even less. Except the Skaal, of course, but they sure don't want them. At least in your case if you do decide to meddle you'll take precautions."

The Telvani wizard stroked his chin. "Hmm… Well, I won't say no."

"Yeah… thought not."

"Where's your plus one, by the way?"

"Outside. She saw some Skaal hunters and wanted to chat to them. I don't think she likes that weird air lift you've got at your front door."

"Understandable. Some of my apprentices hate it too."

Marcus scratched behind his head, and glanced around real quick to make sure no-one else was around. "By the way, I wanted to ask something."

Neloth raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I've been thinking lately, and I was wondering if you knew of a spell that could allow me to heal Serana… I'm not sure if something like that exists or not, but I figured you would know."

"Ah…" The elf tapped the side of his nose. "It's not a common thing, but it does exist. Follow me."

Neloth led Marcus to a smaller room off to the side with a set of bookshelves. It didn't seem like these tomes were regularly used, with a thick coating of dust blanketing most of the covers. The wizard perused a shelf, gently tracing a finger across the spines of the books until he reached the one he was looking for.  
"Here it is. The work of House Telvanni, with my own notes thrown in. Healing the undead requires a bit of 'warping' of the standard restoration techniques, understandably. But I think you're experienced enough to manage." Neloth pulled the book off the shelf and handed it to Marcus. The young man flicked it open and scanned the first couple of pages, trying not to sneeze. It seemed to be a standard sort of tome. Not too complex at a glance, though the handwriting of the dark elf's along the edges of the pages left something to be desired.

Marcus asked, "You break your hand before writing this or something?"

"Very funny." Neloth frowned. "Was there anything else?"

"No. That's it. I'll get out of your hair."

Neloth's frown deepened, which only served to widen Marcus' grin. The man snapped the book shut and placed it in pouch, before leaving the wizard to his business. He knew it was too much to hope that Neloth wouldn't touch the Black Books, but he wanted to think that the elf would at least be careful.

 _This isn't permanent,_ Marcus nodded to himself. _Just until I figure out a good place to stick the stupid things._

He made his way outside, into the dull sunlight that blanketed Solstheim. He saw Serana waiting at the bottom of the walkway that snaked up to the mushroom tower's entrance.

"How were the Skaal hunters?" Marcus asked when he got close.

"Good. Frea is apparently settling into her role as Shaman well. They gave Storn a proper burial the night before last."

"Nice to hear."

"Though, it's not all perfect. Apparently the smith of the village – Baldor – has gone missing."

Marcus frowned. "Missing? In what sense?"

"He just disappeared. No-one has seen him since the funeral."

"They don't strike me as the type of people to do that… least of all without telling anyone."

Serana shook her head. "No. That's why they were worried."

Marcus leaned against the edge of a mushroom tower, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. A short distance away, an apprentice was attempting to use a staff to conjure something. He was waving it like he was some kind of standard-bearer. Marcus watched him as he thought, trying to come up with non-concerning scenarios to explain the Skaal smith's absence.

Serana looked at Marcus with a knowing smile. "You're thinking of looking for Baldor, aren't you?"

Marcus blinked. "Uh… Was it that obvious?"

"To me." Her eyes twinkled. "Don't think it was an accident?"

Marcus shook his head. "Not so soon after the death of Storn. They're a close-knit group of people. If there'd ever be a time when they'd be sticking together, it'd be now. Something bad's happened."

"I agree. Though, one would've thought you'd take it easy for longer than four days after saving the world."

Marcus chuckled, and stood up away from the building he'd been leaning against. "Yeah, I know. Still, it's just a missing blacksmith. It won't be a dangerous affair."

Serana raised an eyebrow, and fell into step beside him. "Can I get that in writing for when it's proven wrong?"

* * *

Marcus crouched down amongst the trees, looking around at the ground. Tracking was difficult in a snowy environment, and an ashy one wasn't much better. The constant layers of dust and particulates that fell from the sky removed footprints within hours, and Baldor's trail was days old.

Still, there were more than just footprints you could use to track people. There were other telltale signs, and the larger the party you were after, the more signs there were. Three people wasn't a whole lot, but Marcus had managed with less in the past.

Assuming of course, that the elves Deor told him about were actually dragging Baldor and not just some firewood or game. He'd tried to get more details but the Nord hadn't been able to recall anything else.

Marcus knelt down next to a medium-sized rock. It was next to a small indentation in the ground that hadn't quite filled up with ash, and the bit of the rock facing up was a darker colour than the bit facing down. Perhaps it'd been rolled over, as something was dragged over it? Maybe.

He walked a few more metres to the west, carefully studying the ground. A small bush had a branch broken close to the ground. Unlikely that an animal had done it… perhaps a boot had trodden on it? Snapped it and left it half-planted in the ground? It was plausible.

That's what tracking was to Marcus. An endless series of small clues that on their own, meant next to nothing. But gather enough of them together and a portrait formed. He became aware of Serana's gaze on him.

He asked, "You wouldn't have some kind of high-born vampire ability to make this easier, would you?"

She smiled. "Unfortunately, no. Besides I enjoy watching you like this."

"Oh?"

"You're like a predator… Slowly closing in on your target, their chances of survival dwindling with every step we take. It's very attractive."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. He sometimes forgot that, as sweet as Serana was, she had a macabre side that occasionally surfaced.

"Yes, well..." he coughed. "That's assuming Baldor was actually kidnapped."

"Like you said earlier, it's the most plausible explanation."

Marcus hummed in assent then turned around and kept scanning the ground, searching for anymore clues that'd lead him to his goal. He continued tracking for another hour or so, occasionally pointing out details or signs of movement to Serana to pass the time and get a second opinion on what could've caused them.

Sometimes she'd fall back a little way, her footsteps growing quieter. He'd then hear the semi-distant sound of a few lightning bolts, or the shattering of ice crystals. She'd return a minute later, a content expression on her face indicating she'd dealt with whatever threat had been nearby. Marcus hadn't detected anything, but her senses were much better than his.

He began to slow after a while, his tracking senses more or less on autopilot, and his mind began to wander. Serana noticed.

"I get the impression something's on your mind other than tracking."

"Yeah," Marcus mumbled. "I was just thinking about the battle with Miraak, and what he said."

Serana frowned. "Don't tell me something he told you is making you anxious. The man was an evil whoreson, and now he's dead. None of his words matter anymore."

He shrugged. "I know. It's just… he said that my intertwinement with fate ended with him. I got the impression that he was really certain about that, as though he'd had some kind of sixth sense about it."

"Would he really have that kind of insight?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. I do. At least to a small extent."

Serana raised an eyebrow. "You can see into the future?"

"No," Marcus shook his head. "I just mean that… A Dragonborn, like a Dragon, is a creation by the God of time. We get… premonitions about things. For me it's more like having a hunch a cave is going to be full of monsters before I step inside. I'd imagine with time one would grow more attuned to it."

"Well, at least in this case Miraak was wrong. You killed him."

"I did, but that doesn't prove him wrong. What if what he said was the truth, and he'd just misinterpreted it? What if the truth was now that I've dealt with him, I'll no longer be wrapped up into catastrophes and prophecies concerning the world's end?"

Serana adopted a thoughtful look for a minute. "I guess it's possible. He was very sure of himself, so it's not a stretch to think he was deluded about it. Still, it's uncharacteristically optimistic of you to think that."

Marcus smiled tiredly. "Yeah, well… I don't know if I'll be able to keep up this world-savior business my whole life."

"Maybe. But keep in mind you've been getting nothing but stronger recently. I doubt there's much else that can beat you."

"What do you mean?"

Serana shrugged. "When we first met you were practically a force of nature, and since then you've learned a dozen new spells, a collection of incredibly powerful shouts, and have tested your mettle against a variety of exceptionally powerful individuals."

Marcus chewed his lip. She was right. Conventionally, he'd grown much, much stronger. It was almost scary to think about, being able to rip the souls out of creatures, or bend them to his will.

"What, so I should keep looking for world-ending plots?"

"Oh, I hope not." Serana laughed. "I want nothing more than to settle down with you in some cosy cottage, and sleep in until noon every day. But don't kid yourself if you think you're getting 'too old or weak for this'. You might not even be at your peak yet."

Marcus sighed. "I hope I am. Anything more and I might go nuts."

They lapsed into silence for a bit. Marcus kept looking for tracks and telltale signs of movement. Serana kept an eye out for anything hostile that might want to disturb him.

Marcus spoke up. "What was that about 'sleeping in until noon'? You know you'd hate that as a vampire, right?"

She looked up at him, her head moving a fraction faster than normal. "Oh… just a figure of speech."

"Ah. Fair enough."

Marcus looked back down at the ground, and paid no more thought to her response.

* * *

"Oh for divine's sake..." Marcus sighed, looking at the dilapidated hut. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Serana narrowed her eyes. "They're those Thalmor people, aren't they?"

"Yes… yes they are. Should've known they'd be behind this when Deor said he'd seen elves."

"Wouldn't have expected to see them on Soltheim."

Marcus groaned. "Anywhere it's possible for something to be screwed up, you'll find the Thalmor, actively I the process of doing so."

Serana chuckled, then switched her gaze back to the elves patrolling outside the hut. "How are we going to handle this?"

"They aren't wearing malachite armor, so they're not the elite troops." Marcus stood up and drew his sword. "Fire a few spells to get keep their heads down. I'll go kill them with as much prejudice as I can muster."

Serana smiled. "Have fun!"

He smiled briefly, before turning away and issuing a mental prayer to Nocturnal. He vanished a second later.

The five Thalmor soldiers outside the shack died in under ten seconds. The first died to an icy spear slamming into his chest and pinning him to the wooden wall he'd been leaning against. The second had just enough time to draw his bow before his head seemingly glided off his shoulders and Marcus appeared behind him with a burst of violet light.

The third cried out in alarm and drew a mace. He took two steps toward Marcus before a thunderbolt struck his face and removed two-thirds of it. He dropped a second later without a single sound.

The final two ran at Marcus with weapons drawn. The young man ducked under a swing from the first one and sliced open his stomach as the elf brushed past him. The second tried to back-pedal and charge a spell in her hand, before Marcus cut it off. She dropped a sword and clutched the stump on her wrist, a cry of pain bursting from her lips before it was silenced as his sword slashed across her throat.

The sounds of battle then faded, with the air full of nothing but the sound of blood flowing into the ash-covered ground. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief, and slowly crept up to the door. He placed his ear against the door and listened carefully.

There was the sound of feet moving on the other side. The noise came up close to the door, then stopped. Marcus wasn't sure if the person was hostile or not.

Serana's voice came from behind him. "Have I told you how much I love watching you fight?"

Marcus smiled. "Yes. Many times."

She walked up and stood next to him, and her expression changed to one of concentration.

"To the left of the door." She said.

"What?"

Serana pointed to the door with a satisfied look. "There's another elf. A mage by the sound of his boots. He's crouching on the inside, where the door would hide him as you entered."

Marcus shook his head slowly. "Wow. Impressive. Stuff like that almost makes me want to become a vampire again."

Serana's smile became a little strained. A dash of colour faded from her cheeks. Marcus was already turning back to face the door.

He took a step back and kicked at the door close to its hinges. The metal latches broke off from the wood and the door splintered inwards. Marcus then darted inside, hunched, and cut down the Thalmor mage waiting just on the inside.

He then started searching the building. Down in the basement, was a familiar face. The smith was lying down in the corner. He was clutching one of his arms with a bloody hand.

"Baldor!" Marcus cried, running over to the old man.

Baldor looked up. "Outsider?" His expression switched to one of relief. "Thank the All-Maker! These accursed elves took me from my home!"

"I know, I tracked them here." Marcus knelt down and quickly began checking the man for injuries. He didn't have to look hard.

Baldor was missing his fingernails. On both hands. And from way he held his arm, it looked like his wrist was broken. Marcus' eyes clouded a little with anger. He briefly wished he'd made the deaths of the elves outside a bit more painful.

Serana came down the stairs and gasped. "By my blood… How bad is he?!"

"Not great." Marcus sheathed his blade and called restoration magic into his hands.

"It's fine," Baldor coughed. "It's nothing I can't deal with. They haven't done permanent damage."

Marcus muttered. "You're damn right they haven't. Hold still. This may feel a little weird."

He released a blast of magic into the smith. Within seconds, the odd shape of Baldor's forearm returned to normal, and the dark spots on the tips of his fingers faded away. The older man raked in a shaky, relieved breath as the pain disappeared.

"Thank you, Dragonborn..." Baldor breathed.

"Don't mention it. Why would the Thalmor abduct you?"

The old man scratched his head, smiling a little as he realized he could actually do that again. "I do not know this word 'Thalmor', but if you mean the elves, they were trying to learnt he secrets of forging Stalhrim."

Marcus sighed. "Of course..."

Baldor continued. "Their leader, an elf named Ancarion, has a map. It shows the location of a hidden source of Stalhrim."

Serana walked up behind Marcus. "Stalhrim is what Frea's weapons were made of, right?"

"Yes. Enchanted ice as hard as iron and as cold as death. It can be used to make very deadly weapons, but the art is known only to us."

Marcus asked, "Where's this Ancarion?"

"They have a ship. They took me there and showed me the map. It's on the northern coast of the island." The man took a step closer to Marcus, almost pleadingly. "You cannot let Ancarion access that source. You must take the map from him. It belongs with us, with the Skaal."

"Agreed." Marcus nodded. "Will you be ok to get back to the village? If we go and deal with the elves?"

"Yes. When you have the map, please bring it to me there… and thank you both."

"Don't mention it." Marcus said, pulling the smith to his feet. The pair led him outside and bade him good luck for the short trip home.

"The Thalmor weren't messing around, were they?" Serana mused quietly as Baldor retreated into the distance.

"No… Interrogation is almost a passion of theirs."

"I'm beginning to see why you hate them so much."

Marcus sighed. "I don't hate the interrogation part. I've done it myself on numerous occasions, though usually using magic. It's the fact they do it to good people. People that don't deserve it."

Serana blinked. "You've tortured people?"

Marcus shifted a little nervously. "Not with knives or anything. If I'm left with no other options, I use a shout. It makes them afraid, and I can get my answers that way."

"Oh." Serana looked surprised.

Marcus felt a pang of anxiety. He knew it wasn't a tactic he was proud of, but sometimes he felt there was no other options. "It's not great, I know. I just… sometimes I -"

Serana patted his shoulder. "Relax Marcus. I'm not one to judge. Sometimes… the best option isn't the easiest to do. I think the fact that it bothers you, is what truly matters. Do you think the Thalmor give a damn about the people they treat that way?"

"No. Definitely not."

"Exactly. That's a big difference on its own."

He sighed. "You're right. Once again."

"Now come on. We've got a ship to sink."

* * *

Marcus hunkered down at the top of the snowy cliff, looking down at the Thalmor ship. It was a very sleek design, with what looked like an embroidered sail. He couldn't imagine how expensive it was. It probably cost as much as Proudspire Manor. He hoped sending it to the bottom of the small inlet it was moored in would make some Thalmor clerk in an embassy somewhere very upset. Sinking it wasn't necessary, of course. Only retrieval of the map was. But Marcus had never sunk a ship before, and figured this would be as best an opportunity as he'd get.

There was around 20 soldiers milling about the area, both on the ship and around the small camp beside it. A decent force, but not something he knew he'd need to be overly concerned about. Again, there didn't appear to be any figures in malachite armor, so no elite troops.

He looked over at Serana and pointed at the slope leading down to the waters edge. "See if you can creep up from the beach, then deal with the couple on the shoreline. I'll drop onto the boat from the cliff's top and get their attention."

"Ah, going for a subtle entrance, are you?"

He smiled. "I'm not feeling particularly stealthy today."

Serana rolled her eyes. "When are you ever?"

They separated, and moved toward their respective avenues of attack. Marcus reached the furthest outcrop of the cliff face and waited a minute or so. He was almost directly above the ship. They'd moored it well inside the natural inlet to shield themselves from the elements. More fool them, as it turned out.

"Feim!"

Then he casually stepped off the cliff, and drew his sword as he fell.

* * *

Baldor was working away at his smith when Marcus and Serana returned. Repairing the equipment that'd grown tarnished in his brief absence. Unnecessary, most likely, but cathartic for the old smith.

"Ah," The man said, looking up. "It's good to see you two again. Did you find the elves at their ship?"

"That we did." Serana smiled.

Marcus reached out and handed a rolled up piece of parchment over. "Yeah, we brought you the map back as well."

Baldor's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you. I know you faced great danger to bring this map to me. There aren't words to tell you how glad my heart is to know it's safe. You truly are Skaal-friend. If you ever wish to know the secrets of forging Stahlrim, just let me know."

"I will, just maybe not now. Got some other things to do."

"Very well." Baldor nodded. "Until our next meeting, Marcus. May your hunts always bring you game."

The young man nodded curteously, then turned to leave. They passed a few faces on the way out of the village, and it seemed people were beginning to have smiles on their faces. The troubles Hermaeus Mora had afflicted them with were fading.

"A good deed for the day," Serana mused.

"Yeah..." Marcus nodded, deep in thought.

"Something the matter?"

"No… or yes. Maybe. Just had an idea."

She frowned. "Something I can help with?"

Marcus shrugged. "Just thinking about ways to deal with those black books. I'll sort it when we're about to head back to Skyrim."

"That'll be soon, right?"

"Very soon. Let me say goodbye to Frea first, though. I feel she should know we're leaving."

Marcus walked into the Shaman's hut, Serana close behind. Frea sat at a chair, reading through a book. It looked like a journal, maybe. She looked up as they entered, and her eyebrows raised in question.

Marcus explained, "We're going to be heading back to Skyrim soon. Just a few minor things to deal with, then we'll be leaving with the tide."

"I see..." Frea nodded. "I wish you fair weather, in that case. Have you decided what to do with the books?

Marcus smiled. "I sent a ship to the bottom of the ocean recently. Figured it might be a good way to deal with them."

Frea let a small grin touch her lips. "I agree. I doubt it'll halt Herma-Mora in his tracks permanently, but it'll certainly slow him down for a century."

"That's the plan." He nodded.

"Will you be returning to Solstheim again soon?"

"Maybe not soon, but at some point in the future. Take care, Frea."

"Live well, Marcus and Serana." Frea stood up and embraced them both, before turning away and returning to her journal.

The pair left the building, feeling like they'd gained a bit more closure. They left the village, walking south.

"Can't say I'll miss the weather of this place." Serana mumbled, looking up at the sky.

Marcus smiled. "Neither will I. It'll be nice to see actual sunlight again."

"You said it."

* * *

Marcus stood at the bow of the Northern Maiden, with the last of the Black Books in his hands. He'd dropped them one by one into the water at differing days, not wanting some future fisherman to snag a sack full of Daedric artifacts with a net. This book was special though. It was his first, and his last. The one that'd brought him face-to-face with Miraak for the first and last time. It felt poignant to end with this one.

Serana was asleep in their cabin. He'd wanted to do this alone.

So, so many times in the past he'd collected magical artifacts. Daedric, aedric, dwemer, draconic… he'd assembled a huge collection. And for what?

Did he use any of them anymore? Not really. Azura's star was occasionally handy, but the rest just gathered dust in secure boxes in his various houses. His most valued equipment was the things he'd made himself. The things he'd actually brought into the world for a specific, personal purpose.

So Marcus felt like this'd be the last time. The last time he ever accepted the tokens of a Daedra. He was the only remaining Dragonborn in existence. He'd find a way to cope, whatever the future held. In the back of his mind was still that desire, that lust for power. To just hold onto this last book for the 'what if' scenarios that may crop up.

It was the dragon part of his mind, Marcus knew. The piece that relished in the thought of sculpting the weather for his purposes, of bending time and space, of subjecting others to his will… It was very vocal, sometimes.

But he was only half Dragon.

Marcus tipped his hands forward, and let the book slide into the inky water below. A small splash was heard, and then silence. The young man let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It felt good. Hopefully Hermaeus Mora was fuming somewhere in his realm at his actions. Perhaps the daedra would finally get the hint and leave him alone.

Marcus would appreciate that. He'd appreciate a bit of peace from worldly and otherworldly troubles. But something told him he wouldn't be getting it. He'd been in Solstheim a while, and any number of things could've happened in Skyrim while he was gone.

Peace could be such a fleeting thing, after all.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: A bit of a shorter chapter, which was all over the place if I'm being honest. Late too, but I've got finals for second Semester coming up soon, so I've been busy once again.**

 **Got a little stuff to deal with in Skyrim, which'll slowly lead into Marcus' eventual retirement. Or at least, as retired as someone like him can be. I've finished all the 'official' main game content I wanted to cover, with the exception of what'll be covered in the next 2-ish chapters. If you had any quests you desperately wanted me to cover, leave a review and I might do a compilation chapter or something.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	57. Civil War: Chapter 1

A Doom Driven Hero: Civil War Chapter 1 – The Shattered Illusion

Marcus breathed in a lungful of Skyrim air. The cold, crisp air of the region around Windhelm should've felt harsh and biting. But in this instance - after such an absence from the snowy province - it felt welcoming. Relaxing, almost.

A glance sideways at Serana told him she felt the same as well. Though she hadn't complained much, he could tell that the far warmer climate in Solstheim hadn't suited her. That, and the fact that many hostile creatures in the ashy wasteland had an affinity for fire. Marcus hated seeing her get hurt.

It was good to be home. Though even just glancing around the Windhelm docks, it was clear a few things had changed. There was a pair of warships moored opposite the Northern Maiden, with a couple soldiers milling about. There was also more workers moving about the docks, loading supplies onto said warships. Marcus figured the level of piracy had gone up in his absence.

He toyed with the idea of fighting another battle against pirates, but Serana wasn't a big fan of boats. Not from sea-sickness or anything, just the lack of privacy. At times she could be… loud. And rooms with thick walls were welcome.

In any event, he didn't want to go kill a bunch of people just yet. He wanted to deliver the letter to Sapphire first. Unwittingly, she'd been waiting her entire life for the truth. She shouldn't wait any longer. Plus, Delvin or Brynjolf would be able to fill him in on anything important that'd happened in the his absence.

Then, he wanted to go back to Windstad Manor and relax for a short while. Just a couple days, maybe, but he felt liked he'd earned it. Saving the world for a third time, and all.

Serana piped up. "We heading home?"

Marcus shook his head. "Not yet. Gotta deliver that letter, remember?"

Serana pretended to tut disapprovingly. "Of course. Can't let that 'sapphire' girl wait, can you?"

He turned and raised an eyebrow. "Is someone jealous?"

"I dunno. Should I be?"

Marcus laughed, and they began walking out of the docks. "Serana, after everything we've been through, do you honestly think I'd turn you down for a rude-mannered thief?"

Serana smirked "I've never seen her. She might be prettier than me."

"I don't think that's possible."

She chuckled. "Oh, you know just what to say. Tell you what, I'm open to a one-off 'share', as long as she remembers who's got the real keys to the lock."

Marcus stopped in his tracks, staring at Serana with a look halfway being incredulity and shock. The travel time between Skyrim and Solstheim was a while, but even she couldn't be this desperate after the bout of abstinence "The hell? Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm joking, dear."

"Oh. Good." The young man relaxed. "Cause yeah, I don't think Sapphire even likes me very much. And even if she did, you're just about all I can handle."

She gave him a sly grin, and they continued walking again.

They made their way to the stables and rented the carriage for a trip to Riften. Marcus had organized for his Dragonbone set to be delivered to his Manor, so he'd be able to go about in his more subtle gear. After over a month away from Skyrim, he'd probably get hassled a fair bit if he went around dressed in his iconic gear.

The carriage ride to Riften was quick, without delay. The carriage driver didn't talk much, thankfully. The guy looked slightly troubled, as a matter of fact. In any event neither Marcus nor Serana felt particularly talkative after being on a ship in close proximity with a variety of people for a while. Marcus noted a fair few patrols on the roads, and felt a brief amount of pride. Thanks to him, Stormcloak soldiers were actually able to patrol the roads again instead of being thrown endlessly into skirmishes against Imperials, and vice versa.

Serana dozed a little. A common enough thing for her to do in the midday, when they weren't doing anything important. She'd pulled up her hood and rested her head against his shoulder, quietly breathing in and out. Marcus couldn't help but be amazed at how cute she was. One would never be able to tell she was capable of ripping a small army to shreds.

They arrived at Riften just after nightfall, and Marcus was almost tempted to carry the sleeping Serana bridal-style to Honeyside while he sorted out the guild business. But now that night had fallen she was much more alert, and woke up as soon as the carriage stopped moving.

They headed into the city, and Marcus led the way to the cemetery. The market had died down, and the only buildings that looked to have anything special going on inside were the inn and the Temple of Mara. As he passed by the latter, he heard the groans of injured men, which was curious. Generally, caring for the wounded wasn't the role of Mara's disciples. There'd probably been a bandit raid recently.

Once Marcus reached the cemetery, he looked around briefly to see if anyone was watching. Not that it would've really mattered. No-one would threaten the Thieves Guild in Riften, but the secret entrance to the Cistern staying 'secret' was a matter of professional pride.

"There's no-one around, if that's what you're wondering." Serana quipped.

Marcus nodded. "Ah, thanks. I thought I might have to use my aura shout." He knelt down and pushed the button on top of the large tombstone. With the sound of grinding stone, the hatch opened up and revealed the stairs leading toward the home of thieves.

"How does that shout work?" Serana asked as they both walked down the stairs. "I know a lot of detection magics don't work on the undead."

"It's special. It detects the 'aura' of a creature. Automatons, undead, daedra, creatures… everything shows up in varying shades and brightness."

"Is there much differentiation?"

Marcus smiled. "Yeah. A bit. Dwarven machines are a kind of dull grey. Most animals are a soft green. Daedra are black. People are the most varied, though."

Serana watched as Marcus descended the ladder into the Cistern. "Does it represent what the person is like?"

"Most of the time. Bandits tend to be darker, mottled colours. Priests and holy individuals are usually a light blue. Children are almost always white. There's a Redguard in Whiterun that's the colour of vomit."

Serana chuckled. "Can you see your own colour?"

"Yeah. I'm a kind of radiant gold, if you were wondering. All Dragons are."

"A bit ostentatious, you think? Kinda like Akatosh patting himself on the back."

"I think its cool."

Serana thought hard for a few seconds. Then she followed him down the ladder, biting her lip as she hesitated to ask the question in her mind.

"What colour am I?"

Marcus looked back at her, as she reached the bottom of the ladder. Her face was hesitant, anxiously awaiting his answer, wondering whether she'd like the answer or not. He smiled. "You're red. The most vibrant, brilliant red I've ever seen."

Serana blinked. She didn't know if that meant a good thing or a bad thing. It was unique, from the way Marcus said it. Did it mean bloodthirsty, or passionate? She wanted to ask what he thought, but Marcus was already walking into the Cistern, and several shouts of surprised happiness came from about the place as he was recognized.

Even after he'd taken only a few steps out in the open, the Dragonborn was being surrounded by his fellow Guild members. They all took turns clapping him on the back, shaking his hand, or wrapping him in a bear-hug. Marcus was used to the gestures, and returned them where he could before answering the flow of questions that quickly followed.

Serana watched him from a smile, but didn't move out to join the throng of people. They all probably deserved to know what he'd been up to in Solstheim, and she didn't want her presence to detract from the telling of the story. She still felt a bit like an outsider in these matters. Even after everything they'd been through, she'd known Marcus for less than six months. Integrating herself into his life would take much longer than that. Though, she had plenty of time.

Too much time.

* * *

"It's been a while, lad." Brynjolf mused as Marcus sat down in the spare seat. The Ragged Flagon was quiet enough. Busy compared to how it'd been a year ago, but quiet compared to its current norm. Most of those who bustled around had gone to bed.

Marcus smiled. "Yeah. Had a lot of Dragonborn business lately, comprising of off-shore matters."

"Ah yes, Delvin told me you asked him to ship your gear to some island. Is it sorted?"

"Yep. World saved, once again."

Brynjolf shook his head slowly. "With you, I never know if you're joking when you say that. Though, if you needed that Dragonbone set…"

"It's a long story," Marcus smiled. "Do you want to hear it?"

The older man shook his head tiredly. "No, I think I can do without the knowledge. If you've sorted it, that's all I need to know."

Marcus grinned. "You getting world-weary Bryn? You're not at that age yet, surely?"

"Shut it, Marcus."

"How's everything been, though?"

"In terms of business, good. In terms of pretty much everything else? Not great."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Ah..." Brynjolf shrugged. "Some of the others are a bit disillusioned by the recent events. Vex is more pissed than usual, and Delvin is worried we'll get a new spell of bad luck."

The younger man frowned. "What are you on about, what recent events?"

Brynjolf looked up, surprised. "Don't you know? Didn't you see all the troops along the roads? The injured troops in the Temple?"

Marcus' frown deepened. "W… What are you saying?"

"The ceasefire between the Empire and Stormcloaks has ended, Lad. Skyrim is once again at war."

The words fell onto Marcus with a crash. He felt icy tendrils creep up his chest, wrapping his heart in a tight grip. The colour faded from his face, and the young man suddenly had trouble regulating his breathing. Serana, leaning against the wall a few metres away, walked over quickly.

"Are you serious?" She exclaimed, grabbing Marcus' shoulder. "After everything Marcus did, they've started their war again?!"

"Aye, Lass. There was a skirmish north of Whiterun not two weeks ago. An entire cohort from both the Legion and the Stormcloaks was wiped out. The ceasefire ended shortly thereafter, with dozens more battles across the province ever since."

"I..." Marcus held his head in his hands, almost clutching his face. "I thought… I'd **hoped** , that this day would never come. That saner heads would prevail. I…"

"It's not your fault." Serana moved to console Marcus.

"I should've killed Ulfric and Tullius long ago when I had the chance… stubborn assholes have gone and thrown any hope of peace away."

Brynjolf nodded slowly. "Yes, well… we're mostly just staying quiet for the time being. Haven't done too much thievery until the battle lines get properly drawn once again."

"I..." Marcus breathed out a heavy sigh. "Good idea. Keep a low profile for the time being. I'll… I'll have to come up with a way to fix this."

The older man leaned forward and frowned. "Wait, you're not planning on trying to end this thing again, are you?"

"Of course I am. What am I supposed to do, let the war wage until there's no-one left alive to fight it?"

"I'm just saying… some things can't be stopped."

"Some things, yes." Marcus said adamantly. "This war is not one of them."

"Well, I hope you can come up with something fast. The longer this drags on, the harder it'll be to end."

The resigned young man nodded, then stood up. "I… yeah. I'll do some thinking. Come find me in the Cistern if you need to talk."

Marcus walked out of the Flagon, Serana close behind. As soon as he was out of sight of the others and had walked through the barrel-entrance, he stopped and leaned against the stone wall. A heavy sigh escaped his lips once more, and his head drooped. He rested his forehead in his hands and closed his eyes.

"It's not your fault." Serana said again, rubbing his shoulder in an attempt to console him.

"I know it's not… but it's my responsibility."

"Is it?"

Marcus looked up at her. "You never saw Skyrim before the end of the Dragon Crisis and the Civil War. To put it bluntly, everything was fucked. Bandits ran amok in every fort, and most caves. Rogue mages and necromancers were holed up everywhere else. Wild animals and monsters routinely wandered into villages and mauled farmers. No-one could do anything about it because half the province's fighting men were off killing each other. When the Dragons returned on top of that… people lost hope."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I managed to put an end to practically all of it. I ended the Dragon Crisis. I put a ceasefire in place that freed up soldiers. I cleared out every den and cave. I nursed Skyrim back to health, and now…"

Serana finished for him. "And now you're worried it'll go back to how it was."

He nodded glumly. "Not instantly, sure, but unless I can think of a way to bring peace back into the equation… yeah."

"Well… I'll be by your side, whatever plan you come up with."

"I… Thanks Serana." He smiled at her. "Enough distractions though… First things first, I need to deliver this letter."

* * *

"Sapphire?" Marcus asked quietly.

The young woman turned around, her normal glare softening a token when she saw him. "Mar… Guild Master, what is it you need?"

"Marcus is fine, Sapphire." He said with a smile. "Unlike some, I've got not qualms with my real name being used."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, very funny. You have a job for me?"

"Not quite." Marcus reached into a pocket and pulled out the letter that Glover had kept hidden in his basement for so long. With a sad smile, he handed it to her. "I believe you would like to read this."

Frowning, Sapphire took the letter from his outstretched hand and opened it. "What's this? Why would I want to- Oh my God..."

Her frown vanished after reading the first few lines, and she instantly began reading the note with a look of complete absorption. Marcus noticed her eyes begin to sparkle before long, and her breathing becoming quicker.

When she finished the letter, Sapphire's copious amounts of eyeshadow were running down her face, and her mouth hung open. She switched her gaze between the letter and Marcus for a few seconds. He stood there with a 'there you go' kind of expression, not really knowing what to say.

When Sapphire did finally speak, her voice was shaky and weak. "I… I can't believe it. All those years on the farm… My mother never told me anything about this."

"Well," Marcus shrugged. "Now you know the truth. I'm just sorry it took so long."

The young woman swept forward and wrapped him in a tight hug. Marcus stiffened slightly, unsure whether he should return it or not. Sapphire released him shortly after, and rubbed her eyes profusely.

"I… I can't thank you enough, Marcus."

"Will you go visit him?"

"I don't know. Maybe, once the revelation has settled..."

"Well… in case you do, I'll let Delvin know you may need some time off soon."

"I… Thank you."

"It's the least I could do, Sapphire. Honestly, I wish I could do more."

The young girl finished wiping her eyes, and looked up at Marcus. She got a funny look on her face, and then darted forward. With one hand on his cheek and the other grabbing his shirt, she pulled him into a kiss. It lasted only a second, but was enough to set the young man's cheeks – and Serana's eyes – ablaze.

Sapphire pulled away from him and looked down, then spoke in a quiet voice. "Call me Samantha..."

Marcus blinked a few times. He could feel Serana's eyes drilling into the back of his head. "Uh… Samantha. That's a good name..."

"I better go," She said quickly. "I… I think I hear Brynjolf calling me."

And with that, Sapphire – Or Samantha – quickly walked off, making for the relative quiet of the training room. Marcus watched her go, his expression still somewhat stunned.

" _I don't think Sapphire even likes me that much._ " Serana mocked in a reasonable impression of his voice.

Marcus scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Well… I think she was just showing her gratitude."

"She was showing something, all right."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," Serana walked forward and pulled him into a kiss for herself, "Judging by your stunned fish expression, you weren't exactly eager. I'll live with it."

"Ok." Marcus let out a breath of relief. He didn't want to have to deal with Serana ripping a guild member apart. With that particular business out of the way, he was able to focus on the chief task at hand.

 _Mainly, h_ e thought, _un-fucking the situation that Skyrim has managed to get itself into._

* * *

Marcus knelt down next to a half-frozen corpse of an Imperial soldier. Blocking out the sound of Serana blasting away the pack of wolves that'd been feasting on the bodies, he studied the man.

All the standard post-mortem conditions were in full display. Two weeks was a long time for a body to be lying around, though the light snow that covered most of the area north of Whiterun had reduced the decay substantially. The fingers and one of the legs had been chewed off, and the eyes were gone. The smell had mostly faded, though it still wasn't pleasant. The skin had turned blue and a sickly white, and looked hollow in some places. A sad corpse, for what could potentially be someone's husband or father.

Such a stupid waste of life.

It was difficult to determine exactly what had caused the original death, but Marcus guessed it had to be the slashed throat. That was odd in itself, as most Stormcloaks didn't use swords, and those that did tended to use them in a similar fashion to an axe. Slashing one's throat, particularly in the way that Marcus could see with this body, required a certain degree of finesse.

But it was hardly impossible, and stranger things happened all the time. Marcus stood up and continued walking through the small battlefield. Brynjolf hadn't been kidding when he'd said 'wiped out'. There had clearly been no survivors. A full cohort on both sides, dead.

Which… was also strange. Rarely would two sides of a battle lose simultaneously. Usually there'd be at least one or two survivors, but in this case it appears they must've died of wounds shortly after finishing off the last couple of soldiers from the opposing side.

There was one group of bodies that all looked like archers, with their lighter armor and quivers on their backs. The bows were probably buried under the odd two or three inches of snow. Marcus frowned slightly, thinking that something was slightly off about that group of bodies too. He walked over and studied them. They seemed normal enough. Several arrows missing from a full quiver. Chest wounds as the clear cause of death.

Then it struck him. None of the other bodies had arrow wounds. They were all from bladed weapons. Marcus quickly looked at the closest groups of Stormcloaks, but they had no arrow wounds either. But surely there had to be some, because arrows were missing from the quivers.

Marcus took a step back and glanced around. This battlefield just hadn't been making any sense. What had actually happened?

Serana's voice spoke up from behind him. "Something wrong?"

He turned around, chewing his lip. "Just… this place isn't making a whole lot of sense. The wounds, the layout of the bodies, the fact that there wasn't any survivors..."

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, the blood isn't right either."

"What?"

"The blood. There isn't enough of it. Normally a place like this would have a stench of blood so strong it'd be almost overpowering, but apart from the bits on their armor there's hardly any."

"You'd be able to smell the blood even after two weeks?"

"If there hasn't been any strong rain, yes. That's what happens when… when we don't feed often."

Marcus furrowed his brow with concern. "That can't be easy to deal with. Why don't you feed more regularly? There's plenty of bandits and such around, I wouldn't mind-"

"No!" Serana barked. Marcus jolted, taken aback. She hastily added, "Sorry, it's just… I've done more than my share of feeding in the past. I'm good."

"What?"

"It's fine Marcus," Serana shifted uncomfortably. "I just mean to say, there should be a lot more blood soaked into the ground. If anything had washed it away, there wouldn't be blood on the bodies either."

His look of concern slowly faded, and he nodded. "Yeah… it just doesn't feel right. I'm not sure what possible explanation there could be, though."

They walked through the battlefield together, glancing down at the corpses to their left and right. It was harrowing, in a way. Marcus had walked through the aftermath of a lot of battles, and seen a lot of corpses. Many times, he'd been the reason for the bodies in the first place. But this was different. When Marcus fought and killed, it was in the hope it would result in less killing. Less death, further down the track. In this case the battlefield did nothing but promise countless more like it.

"They haven't even come to bury them." Serana muttered in a low voice.

"No… I don't think they ever will. Not now."

"How many of them do you think are fathers? How many are daughters?"

Marcus sighed. "I was wondering that just before… Too many."

"Any ideas on how to stop the conflict?"

"A couple. None of them are that good. The only people that want the war are the people in charge, which is sadly all who need to."

"Can't you just kill them?"

Marcus rubbed his forehead. "Ugh… I'm tempted, but I don't know if that'd change anything. It may just end up escalating the conflict… and provoke a more embittered response from those left in the chain of command."

"Hmmm… You may be right."

"Plus…." The young man sighed, "I don't want to have to kill anyone. This whole thing has started because people didn't think before they took a life. They didn't care enough to look for alternatives. I don't believe I can break this cycle by doing the same thing."

Serana smiled softly. "That's very wise."

He glanced at her, "You know, there was a time when..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes fixed on something behind her.

"What is it?" Serana turned to see a lone body, far off from the others. It was leaned up against one of the first trees that lead into the snowy forest between Dawnstar and Whiterun. Marcus was staring at it, his face frozen and slowly growing pale.

"Marcus, what is it?" Serana asked, a little louder.

"It can't be..." Marcus' voice rasped. He took a few steps, before quickly breaking into a run. He sprinted past Serana and bolted over to the body. He reached it in a matter of seconds, and dropped to his knees. He stared at the first face he'd ever seen in Skyrim.

Ralof.

Marcus' body went numb. He couldn't believe it. Yet here it was, right in front of him. His first friend in Skyrim, dead. Rotting in the sun.

An erie ringing filled his head. Like the sound of blood roaring in his ears, yet distant. He heard Serana say something beside him, but he couldn't make it out. Every other sense was drowned out as the horrifying picture in front of him filled his mind.

Marcus didn't see Ralof very often, and generally hadn't had a lot in common with the man even when he had. But they'd known each other for so long. The only other people that Marcus had known for as long as Ralof were all dead. He'd somehow assumed that nothing would ever happen to him, that the dependable nord would always be somewhere in Skyrim, doing whatever he believed was his duty. Now… he was here, dead.

Marcus didn't know how long he knelt there, staring. But eventually, the world returned to him and he was aware of Serana hugging him from the side. She hadn't known why he was so horrified, but she'd done her best to comfort him, bless her.

"His name was Ralof..." Marcus breathed, lips dry. "I… I knew him since Helgen."

Serana released him and looked into his eyes. "I… I'm so sorry."

"I never even got a chance to introduce you to him… he would've liked you."

Serana nodded sadly. "I… Wait, what's that in his mouth?"

Marcus looked up from the ground, and peered closer at Ralof's face. Serana was right, there was something in his mouth. Muttering a prayer to Arkay to forgive him for desecrating the corpse, he gently pried it open. Inside was a crumpled, slightly tattered piece of paper.

With almost a shaking hand, Marcus opened it up and saw a few lines of hastily-scrawled writing, on parchment that could've been torn from anywhere.

 _I don't know who might read this, but the truth needs to be known. The Thalmor killed us. They haven't found me yet, but they will. Gerdur, if you ever get this, know that I -_

The final sentence wasn't completed, with just a sudden line stretching across the rest of the paper where the words should've continued. Ralof had been interrupted before he could even get his final words written down.

"He must've scrawled it with some charcoal..." Serana whispered. "Then put it in his mouth so they didn't find it when they killed him..."

"He..." Marcus' voice broke. He couldn't speak anymore, and instead just looked down with closed eyes. His hands clenched into fists a second later, and his breathing quickened a pace.

"The… Fucking… Thalmor!"

Marcus stood up, turned, and punched the tree next to him with pure anger. A chunk of wood the size of a dinner plate exploded out from the tree as his fist, carried by the strength of a furious Dragon, connected with it.

Serana took a step back, eyes wide. Marcus had never been one to show anger, let alone fury. She… didn't like it. Thankfully, Marcus calmed down a few moments later. He turned around and leaned against the same tree, breathing out heavily.

When he opened his eyes, they were darting about. His mind raced, assembling a plan with this new revelation. Jaw set, the friendly hero had vanished. A ruthless, calculating one had taken his place.

"What do we do?" Serana asked, tentatively.

Marcus looked up at her, not answering straight away. "We… You need to go around to Solitude. Find Jordis, and get her to bring my housecarls as well as a legion soldier named Hadvar to Windstad Manor. I'll need them all in one spot to explain what I'm planning."

"What? What are you going to do?"

Marcus turned away and began walking back through the battlefield, quickly. "I'm going to find evidence of the Thalmor's guilt. The only way to make this work is to get both Tullius and Ulfric in the same room, then convince them that they're on the same side. To do that, I need documentation, reports, whatever I can get from the Thalmor."

Serana ran after him. "Marcus! Wait!"

She ran up and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stop. "How are you going to find that?"

"I'm going to search the Embassy. The Thalmor are bureaucratic. They should have what I need."

"Why do you need to do this alone?"

Marcus turned away again. "With every second's delay, this war gets harder to end and Ralof's murderers continue breathing. I don't need you with me, and gathering everyone will be a more efficient use of your time."

"The hell's gotten into you?!" Serana cried. "Storming an entire embassy alone? You think that'll be easy?"

"Serana..."

"No! You tell me exactly why you don't want me there, right now."

Marcus stopped walking. He sighed, and turned around slowly. "The Thalmor can't be allowed any continued interference. I will not let them ruin this land any longer."

He glanced up into her eyes. "I don't want you seeing what I'm going to do next…"

Serana's face softened. "Marcus… I am the last person who would be afraid of-"

"Please don't argue with me on this… It's going to be messy, and only one set of hands should be stained."

She gazed into his eyes for several long seconds, weighing her options. Eventually, she sighed. "Ok… I'll do what you ask."

He visibly relaxed, and went to turn away again, but she gently stopped him.

"Just promise me, Marcus," She continued slowly. "That when this is all over, you'll figure out which one of us is the monster."

"I..."

She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "Just do what you need to do. I'll be waiting for you."

Marcus stood there for a moment. He nodded, as much to himself as her. _This'll be the last time,_ He promised himself. _The last time I ever have to leave her side._

Then he turned and walked away. His mind was in two halves. One was cold and calculating, planning out possible issues that could arise with later stages – ensuring the cooperation of Hadvar, ensuring the safety of the two generals while they sorted out their 'issues', among other things.

The other half was a mess of burning rage and hatred. Too many times had the Thalmor made his life harder. Too many times had they endangered people far more worthy of life. The young man could feel the fire broiling in the centre of his chest, begging to be released in the form of fire and might. To simply grab those responsible for his friend's death, and rip them to pieces with his bare hands.

Marcus was going to make it a slaughter. He knew that. A part of him hated it… but its cry of objection was drowned out by the clamoring for blood that flooded the rest of his conscience.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Finished with Semester 2 Uni a few days ago, so I've got a lot more time on my hands to write. These next few chapters may be a little less cohesive, because it won't really be following the game's plot. Rather it'll be more of my own take on events and thus mightn't make as much sense. They might be a bit edgy too, but that's sometimes the case.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	58. Civil War: Chapter 2

A Doom Driven Hero: Civil War Chapter 2 – Overdue Retribution

Marcus walked slowly up the mountain. The cold wind blew flurries of snowflakes about his armored figure, creating soft whirs of noise punctuated only by the muffled crunch of his heavy Dragonbone boots through the snow. His fists were clenched, the tough leather grating against itself.

He was forcing his breathing to be regular. Measured. He deliberately slowed every step, though every inch of his body wanted to start sprinting. To wreathe himself in fire and hurl himself at the Embassy… To shatter their wills and make them regret every selfish choice they'd made.

But he wasn't just doing this to avenge Ralof. To avenge every unfortunate soul the Thalmor had wronged. He was doing this to gain evidence and put an end to the War. Or at least, that's what the human part of Marcus told himself.

When he was about 20 minutes from the structure, Marcus stopped walking. He turned around and breathed in.

"Odahviing!"

The shout echoed across the mountainside, and was answered by a distant roar only a minute later. Marcus didn't need the red Dragon for this, it was just for insurance to prevent any escaping his grasp. None could live. None **should** live.

The large beast appeared a minute later. He circled the area once, and then came to a land near the man with a loud boom of crushed snow.

Odahviing looked down at Marcus. "Hin unt saraan zu'u?"

"I am in need of your strength." Marcus replied. "Daar fen kos sos. A group just north of here has endangered this land too many times. I seek their destruction. Completely and utterly."

"Zu'u mindoraan. What would you have me do?"

"Circle this area. If any manage to escape the building, hunt them down and kill them."

"Nii fen kos dreh." The large Dragon nodded in understanding. "This is a… unusual task for you to undertake, Dovahkiin. It is not… meyz… 'becoming' of you."

Marcus turned around to face the path leading up to the embassy. The image of Ralof's bloody, rotting face drifted through his mind. His clenched fists tightened. "Trust me. They brought this on themselves."

"As you wish." With an upheaval of snow, Odahviing took to the skies to begin circling and carry out Marcus' orders. The man was left standing on the snowbank, alone once again.

Marcus began walking. Quickly. The time for preparation had ended, and retribution needed to be dealt. He felt the primal parts of him thrashing against its cage, knowing its time was close. The anger, boiling hotter and hotter. They had continued living, while Ralof had not, for too long. Their time had come.

The blood of the Thalmor would cascade down the sides of this mountain before the day was done.

* * *

Erelion stood guard at the gates of the embassy with three of his other comrades with almost contemptuous boredom. He didn't know why the others were stuck with this dead-end task, but he was certain in the belief he didn't deserve it. A few jests about the promiscuity of the First Emissary and he was landed with a month's worth of guard duty. He didn't know how Elenwen had found out. The woman seemed to have ears everywhere.

The high elf shifted uncomfortably. He found the weather of Skyrim particularly unpleasant, and the scenery even more so. Just endless snow. There wasn't even any 'appointments' for the embassy today to give him entertainment. He enjoyed watching the local Nords squirm under his imposing height as he pretended their documents weren't in order, and acted suitably hostile.

He was about to voice his complaints to the others when a distant sound carried by the wind passed by them.

 _Mul… Qah Diiv!_

"You hear that?" One of the other guardsmen asked, glancing about curiously.

"Probably the mating call of some grotesque native wildlife." Erelion replied in a weary tone.

The others chuckled, and they stood in silence for a few more moments.

"Wait, what's that?" The single female guard pointed out at the road leading up to the embassy.

Peering through the snowdrift, they could see a faint spot of light. It looked orange and roughly humanoid. It was getting closer, rather quickly.

"A returning patrol?" Erelion asked, assuming the orange glow was torchlight reflected on moonstone armor.

"No patrols are due to return until tomorrow morning." One of the other male guards replied.

They all stood up a little straighter, hands drifting closer to their sheathed weapons. As the figure got closer, they began to feel uneasy. It looked like some kind of knight, though the snowfall made visual identification difficult. It wasn't an expected visitor, which made it potentially hostile.

"It can't be..." The female guard whispered, narrowing her eyes and peering into the distance.

Erelion turned. "What?"

 _Wuld…_

Her eyes widened and she drew her weapon, facing the others with a frantic expression on her face. "It's him! It's the Dragonb-"

 _Nah Kest!_

A large blur of orange light flickered in front of Erelion's vision, and he felt a sharp sting at his neck. He fumbled for his sword, but could only grasp the snow he'd suddenly fallen onto. He attempted to cry out, but his mouth didn't move. He looked up and tried to push of the ground, but couldn't feel any of his limbs for some reason.

Then a figure moved over the top of him, darkened by the sun above it. The figure raised its leg, and the last thing Erelion saw was the boot rushing down toward his face.

* * *

Marcus didn't even bother searching the bodies for the key to the gate. He kicked it in the centre, and the entire thing split open with a shattered lock and bent hinges. He stormed inside, sword drawn. The guard up near the front entrance heard the sound of broken metal and ran down. He was struck by a thunderbolt mid-stride and was disintegrated before his body even reached the bottom of the stairs.

A loud entrance, for sure, but Marcus didn't care for being subtle at this point. Better for them to know their end was coming, to taste a little fear for once. He turned back at the entrance and summoned a pair of Dremora Lords, one after the other. They emerged from their portals and looked at him with their usual expression of expectant disdain.

Marcus pointed at the ground. "Stay here, and kill anyone who tries to leave."

They nodded, and drew their weapons. Marcus turned away and walked up to the entrance to the Embassy, taking the stairs two at a time. The front door was locked, of course. The Thalmor prided themselves on security. Not that it mattered. Another kick would do fine.

The front door was lighter than the gate, so it burst off its hinges when Marcus slammed his armored boot into it, sliding along the stone floor for about a metre. The two guards inside that'd heard the thunderbolt and drawn their weapons in anticipation had just enough time to glance down in shock at the ruptured door before they stood face-to-face with a 6 foot tall glowing armored figure.

Their heads were summarily separated from their shoulders.

Marcus stepped over their bodies and continued into the Embassy. He'd turn this place upside down if he had to in order to obtain the information he needed, but there was one place he wanted to check first. The same place where his chief target was also located…

* * *

Elenwen was re-reading a letter of commendation in her study when one of her guards burst into the room. She'd almost made a habit of looking over the letter ever since it'd been delivered to her. It praised her on her skills in re-igniting Skyrim's civil war in such a polite, well-worded manner it almost made her blush. Hopefully her superiors would remember this in time to come, and award her a much more influential posting. Maybe even on the Isles themselves, amongst inner circles? The thought made her chest swell.

So the annoyance she felt at the guard who'd barged in was significant, until she saw the look of abject terror in the man's eyes.

"What?" Elenwen demanded.

"He's here!" The guard gasped. "The Dragonborn! He's in the main building, killing everyone!"

Elenwen's eyes shot open at that. She immediately stood up and began gathering the papers on her desk. "Get out!" She yelled at the guard. "Get out there and do your damn job, before I kill you myself!"

The guard swallowed nervously, but nodded and quickly hurried out. He would most certainly die, but it'd buy her a little more time.

"Rulindil!" Elenwen shouted.

"I'm on it!" Came the reply from a neighboring room. Hopefully the man was gathering up his important documents similarly. Some things were too important to leave unattended, regardless of the Dragonborn's intentions here. The enemies of the Dominion were always waiting for moments of weakness, for them to make errors.

While only temporarily, part of her wondered if it was perhaps excessive to flee the Embassy. She didn't know how many rumors regarding the Dragonborn called 'Marcus' were true, but if he had indeed killed as many Dragons as her scouts said he had… then she knew she was in mortal danger. Even his previous attack of the Embassy during the hosting of one of her parties had resulted in a large body count.

A voice in the back of her head reminded her of the other reports, the ones that came from Thalmor assets and sympathizers rather than her direct subordinates. The reports that detailed him fighting Gods, age-old vampire covens and traveling through dimensions. Ones that spoke of him in a kind of reverence befitting a God.

It was impossible. It had to be. No human man could be responsible for acts akin to the Divines. He was a competent fighter, with natural gifts. Nothing else. He was just another inferior man, and would feel the underside of a Thalmor boot soon enough.

Elenwen had gathered up everything she needed into a bag and left her study at a run. Rulindil was waiting outside. He looked uncharacteristically worried, which Elenwen made a personal note of. Rulindil was one of the few people who'd survived the Dragonborn's first stampede through her Embassy, and he'd done so only by hiding in a cupboard. She could tell the same instinct was on his mind now, only he felt flight would be better than hiding, and certainly better than fighting.

They ran out into the inner courtyard, just in time to hear an almighty 'boom' from the other side. The door that led to the entrance building had exploded off its hinges as a powerful fireball had exploded against the other side. Skidding along the ground with the door was the charred body of the guard that Elenwen had told to go delay the Dragonborn. He hadn't been able to carry out that order for very long, it seemed.

Then she saw him. The towering figure emerged through the flaming doorway like some kind of demon through a fiery portal. He wielded a sword in one hand, and the other was wrapped in flames. From his boots to the top of his helmet, he stood easily over 6'5". Three more soldiers ran across the courtyard to engage him, bound weapons conjured in their hands.

The Dragonborn ducked under the blow of one, slicing open their stomach as he passed. The second had their throat cut a second later, and the third was cleaved in half at the waist as soon as they tried to raise their sword.

The man glanced around looking for anymore woeful combatants, and his two burning eyes fell upon the pair of fleeing Emissaries.

"Elenwen!" Came a roar from inside the helmet, and the Dragonborn began sprinting at them.

The pair turned and sprinted towards the other side of the courtyard where a small gate was, leading into the newly added Embassy gardens. Elenwen could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The man looked terrifying. Rulindil barged open the small gate and they ran into the garden. There was a small exit on the far side where the gardener kept his tools in a small hut. If they could just reach it-

"Gah!" Rulindil beside her stumbled and fell forward. He smacked into the ground with a heavy thud, sliding a short way on the icy path that wove between the manicured bushes. Elenwen had just enough time to glance behind her and see a broad-bladed dagger stuck between his shoulder blades.

Part of her wanted to help him, the faithful colleague he was, but the dagger was clearly made of Dragonbone. That meant the accursed nord was within throwing distance. Rulindil would have to be left behind for her own survival. So she kept running, trying not to hear the pained pleas of Rulindil behind her growing more desperate before cutting out with a final scream of pain.

 _It's not right,_ Elenwen thought furiously as she ran along the final winding garden path. _Why would the Gods bestow that much power to one person? To one man?_

The hut and the small doorway that led to the outside forest appeared in front of her as she rounded one last corner, and she felt a flood of relief. If she could make it outside, she had a good chance of losing her pursuer amongst the trees.

Elenwen barged open the gate, and was about to sprint for the cover of the trees when she felt something take hold of her body.

A flash of green energy washed over her limbs, and with terror gripping her heart she felt everything freeze. Her muscles clenched and refused to obey, leaving her to fall down into the snow in a rigid mid-stride pose.

She didn't hear anything at first except the frantic beating of her own pulse. Then, with a spacing indicative of a slow walking pace, Elenwen heard the crunch of heavy boots in the snow. She screamed at her body, but it stubbornly refused to listen.

A hand grasped the back of her collar, and heaved her up. The small bag of documents slipped off her back and into the snow. She was turned around and was face-to-face with the furious, bloody visage of the Dragonborn who'd done so much to hinder her efforts.

He grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up, one-handed. Her feet left the ground just as the paralysis wore off, and she began scrabbling desperately.

Elenwen's hands clawed at the vice-like grip on her neck, and her legs flailed, but neither set of actions did anything. His grip was like iron.

"You couldn't let peace reign." Came the voice from inside the helmet. It was raw and laced with quivering anger. "You couldn't leave this land alone. You thrust it into chaos once more."

"You…" Elewen continued struggling. "You'll never stop us."

"Watch me, from whatever hell you believe in."

His eyes stared into hers, somehow filled with both blazing fury and icy contempt. He raised both hands up to grip her slender neck. Then, relishing the moment, he twisted them both sideways. A wet crack filled the air, and Elenwen's body went limp.

* * *

Marcus picked up the satchel Elenwen had been carrying. He gave the contents a quick perusal as he walked back into the Embassy. It would serve his purposes well, particularly the letter on top. _The she-bitch had to take her letter of praise, didn't she?_ Marcus thought contemptuously. _Typical._

He strolled back through the gardens, his left hand reaching out and igniting the bushes as he passed with a simple fire spell. Once in the courtyard, he sent a pair of fireballs through the ground-floor windows of the entrance building, ensuring it would be soon ablaze as well. Nothing would be left standing, after he was done.

Marcus stepped into Elenwen's Solar. Immediately, he saw a blur of movement to his right and side-stepped just in time to avoid a sword thrust from another Thalmor soldier, waiting in ambush. He doubted the weapon could've penetrated his armor anyway.

The soldier took a step back, and seemed to debate whether or not to attack again or run. He never got the chance to make up his mind, as Marcus' sword was drawn in a heartbeat and cleaved him from collarbone to navel. With a gurgle and a bloodied cough, the soldier dropped to his knees. Marcus raised his foot up and pushed the dying man away from his blade, wrenching it out with another spurt of blood. A spatter fell upon his arm, and the warmth of the liquid he felt through the chainmail was almost comforting.

The Dragonborn walked through the remainder of the building, checking for anything incriminating, and setting fire to anything flammable. There were only a handful of soldiers left, huddling in the lower parts of the building like rats. Marcus cut them all down.

He checked the interrogation room, but it contained little more than a single corpse, shackled to a wall. It was the body of a young man, with cuts across his face and chest and a large pool of dried blood underneath him. Most likely someone who'd died during interrogation. Marcus felt like he should've done all this a long time ago. Watching it all burn would be very enjoyable, at this point.

As the walls and supports began to creak and crackle, he left the building. The entire area was burning now, the flames roaring as they devoured the Embassy. The front entrance was host to nothing but the same two Dremora, and the body of a single male soldier that had slipped past Marcus on his way in. He hadn't made it far before the summoned warriors had cut him to pieces.

Good. None escaped.

Marcus turned around, seeing the roof of the buildings begin to collapse. The stone walls were falling in on themselves, weakened by the rampant flames stretching upwards and licking at the sky.

The Thalmor would be back, he knew. They'd try to establish another Embassy, or send in agents to infiltrate the province. But that would take time, and his plan would already be in motion by the time they tried.

* * *

Marcus approached Windstad Manor two days after leaving the Embassy. He'd taken the long route from the Haafingar mountains down past Dragon bridge, then through Morthal. He could've just taken a boat across, but he wanted some time to think. Partly to go over his plan again in his head, partly to think about his actions at the Embassy.

He didn't regret it, but felt like he should. Marcus had exterminated them all in ways that could be deemed excessive, and then burned the place to the ground. He'd cleared out encampments of bandits and other undesirables before, but this time he'd gone that extra step. He'd enjoyed it, a lot. It'd become personal, and every death throe of a Thalmor soldier had seemed like music to his ears at the time.

He could still feel it, burning in his chest. A raging thirst for domination that demanded satisfaction. There hadn't been enough Thalmor to kill in that Embassy to make him feel better, and a part of him wanted to go on a detour to search for any fledgling bandit camps.

Marcus didn't like the sensation, consciously. He'd never been bloodthirsty. He'd have to talk to Paarthurnax about this, next time he got a chance. The sight of his Manor made him feel a bit better. The familiarity of it calmed him.

Serana was sitting outside, near the front door. She was idly playing with a bit of grass, somewhat like a bored child. It warmed him inside that she'd been waiting for him so patiently, after he'd dismissed her in arguably a cold fashion.

Even when he was about a hundred metres away, her acute hearing picked up the sound of his heavy footsteps. She glanced up and her face brightened considerably. Running over, she looked like she was about to say something in greeting, or perhaps ask him how it all went.

She didn't get a chance to say it, though. As soon as she was close enough he ripped off his helmet, pulled her close, and pressed his lips against hers. She was surprised at first, then her lips curled into a smile and her mouth opened to reciprocate the kiss.

Once they broke apart, Serana breathed out heavily. "Good to see you back… in the right state of mind, too."

"I'm sorry for ditching you like that..." Marcus looked down. "But… I still think it was for the best, I -"

Serana touched his arm gently. "You can tell me what happened later. For now at least, let's get you settled in and talking to the others. They're wondering why you've got them gathered here."

"You're right. Lead the way."

Serana lead him inside the manor and into the main living room with seats and the campfire. It looks like all four of his housecarls were there, along with Hadvar. They all looked up brightly as they saw Marcus enter the room.

Lydia said, "It's about time you got here. What's all this about? You haven't gathered all of us up like this since the Peace Summit."

Hadvar nodded. "I hope whatever you need doesn't take too long. I only got two day's leave from Captain Aldis."

Marcus held his hands up to stem the tide of questions before it began. "I'll explain everything, just let me get out of this armor. I'll be right back."

Marcus headed into his armoury to change clothes into something simpler and cleaner while also preparing his plan in his mind. It would be difficult to broach to the group, especially Hadvar. He knew he'd be asking a lot from them all, but he trusted they'd prioritize peace over any qualms regarding personal loyalty. Thankfully, he didn't have a housecarl from Windhelm, as anyone from that city mightn't be so easy to sway with words.

Marcus got back into the main room with the others and sat down heavily on a chair. It'd felt like days since he'd been able to sit down. It probably was. He took a deep breath and began explaining to the expectant faces what he was doing, and why he'd called them all here.

Marcus started with the aftermath of the skirmish outside Whiterun, and the abnormalities he'd noticed while inspecting it. He detailed the finding of the letter regarding the Thalmor's involvement in the fight, though left out the fact that it'd been Ralof's corpse he'd found it on. Hadvar would need a clear mind to make his upcoming decision, Marcus knew.

The others reacted with anger and shock at discovering the resurgence of the war had been a ruse by the Thalmor, and Argis had even been about to step up and leave – most likely to go give the Thalmor his personal reprisal – had Marcus not interrupted him and said that he'd already delivered such retribution. He left out the details of his borderline bloodthirsty rampage, but described the satchel of documents he'd 'reclaimed' from the Embassy which would prove the Thalmor's guilt.

This lead into his next point, which was showing the documents to Tullius and Ulfric before getting them to agree to a truce. But, Marcus was quick to point out the biggest problem with this.

The essence of what made this Civil War such a shit-show, was that both sides wanted war. They wanted to fight each other because they felt it was the only way to ensure their agendas regarding Skyrim were put forward. They didn't care enough to consider other options. If they actually sat down in the same room and talked out the problems, odds are the War could be suspended indefinitely.

Which was essentially Marcus' plan. Force the two leaders to sit down in one room, and not let them leave until they'd sorted out their differences.

The looks on the faces of those present… even Serana's… slowly devolved into expressions of incredulity as Marcus detailed how he would achieve this. The two leaders wouldn't agree to it willingly, for sure. They would both say they were too busy organizing the beginning of their new war, and couldn't afford to be put at a disadvantage because their top general had been dragged off by the Dragonborn to another ill-fated peace council. No doubt they would cite the temporary nature of the last peace treaty as a reason why it wouldn't work again.

Marcus doubted even the presence of the documents would persuade them to agree to another peace treaty right off the bat, which was why he needed to bring them together by force. His plan was simple: Capture both Tullius and Ulfric, bring them here to be kept in the Windstad Manor, and then bombard them with insults and evidence regarding the stupidity of the Civil War until a conclusion was reached. A simple plan, but Marcus had faith it would work.

Hadvar with his new rank of Quaestor would be able to assist in the capture of Tullius by removing guardsmen from Castle Dour, and Odahviing would be able to cause a distraction outside Windhelm to draw guards away from the palace. Then, two teams would grab the two leaders at the same time, leaving behind a letter that would make it seem like they'd decided to go to a peace treaty location anonymously.

"Thankfully," Marcus said as he was wrapping up the plan. "Both sides have pretty gullible soldiers and leadership – no offence Hadvar – and thus are more likely to assume the desire for peace is genuine, especially once they hear the opposing side's leader has done the same. Any questions?"

He was rewarded with a bunch of blank faces. Several mouths hung open, and Hadvar looked as if someone had asked him to eat his own boots.

"Are you insane?" Jordis broke the silence.

Marcus blinked. "Umm… Is that a legitimate question or..."

"Have any of Marcus' plans ever failed to bear fruit?" Iona asked. "Because if we're asking rhetorical questions, that's the only important one you need to consider."

"You'd ask me to turn against the Empire?" Hadvar exclaimed. "Turn against my entire life?" The man stood up and walked off out of the room. Not necessarily leaving the Manor, but more as an expression of disagreement.

Marcus watched him go and sighed. It wouldn't be as easily as he hoped. He turned to Serana a few feet away. "Keep the others here, ok? I'll see if I can convince him to stay."

Serana nodded, and stayed in the room while the Housecarls began to argue amongst themselves about the varying levels of mental duress Marcus must be under to come up with such a plan.

Hadvar was in the kitchen, leaning over a table. He looked up as Marcus entered the room and groaned. "It's not that I don't think your heart's in the right place, Marcus. Peace is a noble goal. But this? This situation isn't as simple as you think it is."

"If you don't help me, the War is going to continue. More blood will be spilled over a Thalmor ruse." Marcus stated. "Is that what you want?"

"Aside from the fact an Imperial victory will guarantee Ulfric is brought to proper justice? You're asking me to commit high treason, Marcus."

The younger man leaned up against the table beside Hadvar, and crossed his arms. "I learnt something important in Solstheim, not that long ago. An old Shaman taught it to me. Sometimes, if the right course of action requires you to break a particular law, then the breaking of the law itself can indeed be considered the right course of action."

"I never would've thought I'd hear those words coming from your mouth. Never thought you'd compromise."

"Time and experience changes us all, Hadvar. The world isn't as simple as I'd like it to be."

"Maybe… Still, you have to realize how unlikely your plan is to succeed. Sitting the generals down in a room and shouting at them until the situation is fixed? That's lunacy!"

Marcus sighed. "Of course it won't be that simple, ok? I've trawled through countless libraries over the years and assembled a lot of information. I've got quite a few arguments and solutions to put forward to help both sides get what they want. I simplified it a bit mainly for Argis' sake."

"I..." Hadvar groaned again, and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know Marcus… I'm making a huge exception even letting this conversation slide."

Marcus looked at the older man, knowing how layered in procedure and training his mind must be. He knew what he had to do.

Reaching into his pocket, Marcus pulled out Ralof's letter. The one he'd found on the man's corpse. He handed it to Hadvar without a word, and watched as the older man unfolded the paper and gave its contents a read.

As soon as the horrific realization dawned on Hadvar's face, Marcus spoke. "Ralof has died for this, Hadvar. He will be one of countless many to come if you don't do something."

"I..." Hadvar's eyes began to sparkle, his mouth moved but a lump in his throat prevented any real words from coming out. "He's..."

Marcus pressed on. "Castle Dour is a fortress. I cannot get Tullius out undetected if you don't help me. Hell, it'll be a tough challenge even if you do. I **know** how much I'm asking of you, but there's no-one else in the Legion who'll even hear me out."

Hadvar placed the letter on the table with a shaking hand. The man's breathing was erratic, shaky.

Marcus looked down at the letter, then back up at the conflicted soldier. "Do you think Ralof would've spent the last moments of his life writing that letter, if he thought War would lead to the best future for Skyrim?"

Hadvar closed his eyes, and steadied his breathing. When he opened them, he was concluded. "No. He wouldn't have."

He glanced up. "What do you need me to do?"

* * *

After a little convincing, the others agreed that Marcus' idea was their best option available. Detailing the plan to his housecarls was simple enough. They would handle kidnapping Ulfric, using Odahviing as help. There was a small pathway cut into the side of the mountain behind Windhelm that led into the Palace of Kings, most likely constructed by Ysgramor himself. As of course, no good general would build a city up against a stone wall without a decent escape route.

Marus had created a handful of paralysis scrolls to restrain Ulfric until they could bind and gag him, with emphasis on the latter. He doubted there'd be enough guards in the palace that the small group couldn't neutralize them, but Odahviing would do a good job drawing them away in any event.

The young man had made sure to outline the idea to the great Red Dragon as he left the Embassy. A few burnt carriages, a scary roar or two, and some felled trees would create enough of a spectacle to make the Palace up the back of the city the last thing on the resident's minds.

Under the cover of darkness, and hopefully while Ulfric was asleep, the small group would get in and out with the general before anybody noticed something was up. Hopefully.

Castle Dour was more different, as the abundance of walls, ramparts, and the sheer drops on most sides of the city rendered a simple extraction much more complex. Thus, Marcus would take that upon himself, with Serana coming along for backup and Hadvar giving him details on the guardsman assignments.

After all was said and done, Lydia followed Marcus while he was fetching the paralysis scrolls from his laboratory, cornering him in the room.

She asked, "Are you sure about this?"

Marcus glanced up from the chest he was rifling through. "I've put a lot of thought into this. I wouldn't have gathered you all here if I wasn't."

"You're certain the leaders won't agree to another council?"

"Evgir unslaad, Lydia. Season unending. These are people who want war. They won't come together unless I make them."

"Can't you just… I dunno, use illusion magic on everyone in the Castle and the Palace?"

"Magic isn't that reliable. You'll always come across someone with a nullification ring, or a strong mind. Stealth is the best option, and organizing my bands of thieves and assassins from their respective strongholds around Skyrim will take too long. Every day that passes, the bloodletting continues and thus grows harder to stop. Moreover, I know I can trust you all."

"What about the consequences?"

Marcus grabbed the scrolls and stood up. "I know a few tricks to remove the events of his capture from Ulfric's memory, if you're worried about that."

Lydia shook her head. "No, I mean for yourself. You're going to be talking to them in person. That's part of your plan. They'll know you're the one who orchestrated all of this, even if the rest of us are safe. How do you think they'll react afterwards?"

He shrugged. "I'm hoping they'll downplay it and go along with my whole 'secret, anonymous peace meeting' lie."

"What if they try to get payback for the wounded pride and humiliation? Even if they do agree to peace in your presence, what if they go back on their word? What if -"

"Lydia, we can sit here forever planning for 'what if' scenarios. All I can do is hope they'll see sense in the end, and if not… I have a fallback plan."

"You do?" Lydia brightened up marginally. "What is it?"

"I… I'd rather not say. Let's just say that I learnt a few things while I was in Solstheim, and leave it at that?"

"Ok…" Lydia still looked concerned, but seemed satisfied enough. "I guess I'll take those scrolls. You better see to your own preparation."

"Indeed." Marcus handed over the scrolls, and left to find Serana.

While Lydia's doubts were mostly influenced by her worry for his wellbeing, Marcus knew they weren't entirely unfounded. It was very possible that Tullius and Ulfric simply wouldn't want to cooperate. His ideas regarding the new system of government for Skyrim and the mediums through which compromise could be made weren't as perfect as he'd like them to be. Much of his plan relied on the concept of turning Skyrim into a subject state – a vassal – which would be difficult for many to swallow, regardless of the benefits.

If the Stormcloak and Legion leaders couldn't be convinced of the benefits of peace, and didn't care about the Thalmor re-sparking of the war, then Marcus would only have one option left.

 _Gol Hah Dov._ Bend Will.

Marcus would be forced to resort to the same methods and techniques that Miraak was guilty of. He'd have to dominate the minds of the two men to exercise his own personal will, turning them into little more than the mindless peons that had littered Solstheim, toiling away at the structures corrupting the All-Maker stones. Compliant, but devoid of free will.

And if Marcus couldn't ensure peace for Skyrim without removing free will from the picture, then what was the point in trying? Like the ceasefire brokered during the Dragon Crisis, it'd only be temporary.

Plus… It was another step in the wrong direction, personally. Dragons loved to dominate, and the road to Oblivion was paved with good intentions. What's to say that using Bend Will on Tullius and Ulfric would be the beginning? What's to say Marcus wouldn't end up exercising it more liberally, forcing more of the province to adhere to his wishes however benign they might initially be?

The temptation was strong, though. Control over Skyrim to ensure it never slipped into chaos again was very enticing. Justifying it was easy too. After all, if it saved lives, what's the harm in a little bent willpower?

 _There's plenty harm,_ Marcus told himself as he walked outside the Manor. _You are already too close to the edge._ Recent events proved that well enough. But the scary thing was that if he had no other option, Marcus **would** have to use the shout. He **would** have to walk that same path that corrupted Miraak. It scared him that after all his triumphs and battles, his own mind might end up being the one enemy he couldn't beat.

He eventually found Serana near the water's edge, looking out over the sun setting behind Solitude. It was very picturesque. She'd found a good spot, sitting on a small rock silhouetted by the rays of light.

"No disturbing you, am I?" Marcus asked quietly, coming up behind her.

"You? Never." There was a smile in her voice.

Marcus walked over and sat down beside her. He let out a sigh a moment later. "I'm worried."

Serana smiled again, and gently grasped his arm. "Don't be. You'll get through this, like you always do."

"Not about the War, about me. What I might end up having to do to ensure peace. What… What I did at the Embassy… "

"Marcus, the Thalmor needed to be stopped."

He sighed, and turned to face her. He lightly laid his arms on her shoulders, and stared her in the eyes. "I enjoyed it, Serana. I relished in it. They ran, they screamed… and some of them even begged. I massacred them all. I snapped the neck of their leader like it was a twig, and I grinned while I did it."

He turned away and laid his hands in his lap. "I don't know whether everyone can be like that, or if it's just part of being half-Dragon, but… I'm scared. Scared of how easy it was to become that. How much a part of me wants to stay like that. To… to control it all, and prevent things like this war from happening again."

Serana sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around her legs. She looked over at his taught, concerned face.

"Do you think I'm a good person?" She asked, after a few seconds.

Marcus frowned, but replied instantly. "Of course."

She nodded slowly, looking out over the ocean. "We used to have feasts, you know. Before that mess with the prophecy and I was locked away in the crypt."

Marcus looked sideways at her, confused as to where she was going with this.

Serana continued, "They were… enjoyable, from a vampire's perspective. We brought out dozens, sometimes hundreds of people. Captured from villages and farms around Skyrim, they were subdued and brought to us. We drank them dry in events of decadence and excess that lasted days at a time."

"I…" Marcus blinked. "What?"

"I would have contests with some of the other younger vampires..." Serana looked down at her hands. "We would compete to see how quickly we could drain an entire person of their blood. In order to ensure the blood flowed through their veins as quickly as possible, they were kept conscious and alert."

"Serana..."

"Then the bodies would be dumped into the ocean, pale and thin, to wash up onto the eastern shore of Skyrim. Sometimes you could see people walking up and down the beach, trying to see if their loved ones were amongst the waterlogged corpses. To see if they were able to be buried or if they'd be eaten by the fish."

"Serana!" Marcus said, louder. He reached over and grabbed her hands, forcing her to stop. "W… Why are you saying this?"

She turned and looked him in the eyes. "There's a monster inside all of us, Marcus. For people like you and me, it's just expressed in a stronger way. Every time I smell an open wound, a small cut, I feel the temptation to go back to the kind of monster you've exterminated in droves."

"Really?" Marcus looked concerned, not of Serana, but for her. "Is… I never realized..."

Serana breathed out. "I chose to put all that behind me. Some days it's harder than others, but I persevere because the human part of me is stronger than the vampire part. I won't act like I know what being Dragonborn is like, but I would wager you do the same."

She reached out and gently brushed the side of his face. "You care, Marcus. You care about your morality, your sanity, and your legacy more than anyone I've ever met. As long as that stays, I don't think you'll ever slip away into darkness."

She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "And if you do… If either of us does… We keep the other close to reel us back in."

Marcus was speechless. He stared at the woman in front of him, his mind a mess of confusion and gratitude. He tried to think of something to say, but as if she'd read his mind, Serana placed a hand on his lips.

"You don't have to say anything. Let's just enjoy the sunset."

And so they did. Each with their arms wrapped around the shoulder of the other, lest the world separate them again.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: This chapter was originally meant to cover more, but there were a few scenes I realized I wanted to add halfway through writing that stretched out the length. Some of it might be a bit overly dramatic, but what kind of fanfiction would this be if that wasn't occasionally the case? I'm putting a bit more of a focus on Marcus' personal conflicts, less with doing the right thing and more with his overabundance of power. I also took some creative liberties with Serana's past. Let me know what you all think.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


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